Body Check
by Kisu Pure
Summary: Sequel to "Bushwhacked": When the world isn't built to accommodate your relationship, you take what you can get. But how much is too much? Hound/OFC; violence, conspiracies, dark drama, sticky sex.
1. Solsbury Hill

_7.20.11: Good god, I can't believe I'm at it again. Though I guess it's not surprising... I'm back in NYC for a while now, and I think writing is going to help me get through my time in this crappy town._

_This story is going to deal with some different social themes. I hope I can do them justice, all the while providing more drama, angst, adventure, excitement, and possibly definitely some steamy size-kink sex. All at the same bat time, same bat channel! So don't touch your remote, and stay tuned!_

_1.17.12: If you're interested in taking a peek at some art of mine pertaining to this series, check it out at: hiker dot booru dot org (warning: nsfw!) And remember, I'm always up for requests on scenes/scenarios to draw~_

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><p>"I still can't quite believe it," she said, looking out over the 3500 square foot facility. It gave her an eerie feeling, almost. Something was made official by moving in, something she didn't quite know how to react to yet.<p>

The whole situation had been nothing but a flurry of papers, meetings, men in black suits driving unmarked black SUVs. She'd signed countless documents, sworn to secrecy, and was promised that everything she knew would be gone if she stepped out of line. It was overwhelming, but Hound had tried to always be there when she was communicating with BREME_¹_. He seemed much more skilled at dealing with them than her- and for that, she was eternally grateful.

"Me neither," Hound nodded, glancing around their new home, his eyes wandering from thing to thing.

The two of them were to be operating out of a small warehouse in a dumpy corner of Anchorage from then on. Admittedly, the place looked more like an industrial-style city loft after some BREME guys came in and made it habitable. The north end was a split-level living area for Astrid, while the rest belonged to the Cybertronian. She hadn't realized how many accommodations he required in order to go about his business for any real length of time.

True to loft style, there were no real rooms; just "areas" walled off by enormous sectionals made of wood and drywall so that Hound could relocate them as he wished. He had a "shower" area fitted with high-power washers, and racks full of things like buffing wax, lubricant, scrubbing brushes, steel wool, and the like. There was his workstation, which was little more than a bench and some cable hookups for him to be able to sit and compute in peace. A large screen and manual controls were also rigged up, but that was more for his human partners' sake—they were appropriately scaled—than his own, as he didn't need a screen or input devices in order to interact with the computer. That's what his mind was for.

Then there was a table/workbench and chair for him, and a berth, which was actually little more than a concrete slab raised about 4 feet from the ground. Astrid's bed was also there, though: a mattress and pillow-top off to the side so they could experience some semblance of normalcy. She had asked Hound if it would be dangerous to make that their normal sleeping arrangements, but was quickly assured that his kind didn't toss and turn in their sleep the way humans did. Once they were out, they were out.

For all intents and purposes, the warehouse looked like a typical work/sleep kind of environment, save for the fact that some of the furniture was a little... big.

"But you're sure that you're okay with this?" he asked, looking her direction.

It was difficult for her to admit that this isn't quite what she'd had in mind when she decided to relocate. A good part of her still wanted a house surrounded by greenery; someplace quiet. This just wasn't the refuge she'd imagined.

But in order to have some hint of a life with the Autobot, and any chance at cohabitation, this was the only way. She didn't really want to tell Hound, though... Astrid had the feeling that it would deeply upset him. However, she was hoping it wouldn't come to that as she'd be trying her damnedest to get used to it.

She scrunched up her face and shook her head a little in a gesture of dismissal. "It'll be fine. I'll get acclimated before you know it."

The look in his eyes was one of suspicion, but Hound was not really one to be insistent about things, especially when it came to others' feelings. She was glad that he dropped it for the time being.

"How are you feeling about next week?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Oh," she murmured, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, and tucking a lock of hair—she hadn't cut it since the accident—behind her ear. "Right, I almost forgot about that."

"Forgot!" Hound said with a laugh. "How could you possibly forget about a trip to Autobot headquarters to meet my commanding officers?"

"In my defense, I've kind of been preoccupied with this place for a while now."

Hound seemed to note the frustration in her voice, and quickly came down to her level. She was sitting on a couch, back facing the warehouse, with Hound seated behind it. His hands went to her shoulders while he brought his face closer in. "I'm sorry... these sorts of things are the norm for me," he said, optical lights giving her a faint blue cast. "I know that you're... overwhelmed."

Astrid just nodded in agreement, mind awash with pieces of information she'd been forced to memorize over the past weeks. Someone at BREME must've known that she was a civilian, whose brain worked at a civilian's pace. She was only versed in the languages of stress and action when speaking with the land. Institutions weren't her thing at all.

Technically speaking, she wasn't a civilian anymore. Very few people that dealt with Autobots were allowed to be- for all intents and purposes, Astrid was a government agent now. The work she was originally hired to do, working for US Fish and Wildlife services, was now little more than a cover for the job she'd been strong-armed into taking. As it turned out, Hound would not have been able to stay in Alaska for very long, and taking up residency with her there would have originally been out of the question.

That is, until BREME decided that they wanted to start mining energon out of Chugach State Park.

No, Astrid hadn't known that energon deposits could be found on her planet. The thought didn't even occur to her, honestly, until Hound had sheepishly informed her that she would be getting a call from a government agency about possibly switching jobs. She was told that no relocation would be necessary for her, that she and Hound would be able to enjoy the perks of living together, and that, assuming she didn't break contract and did good work, would be guaranteed job security and pensions upon retirement. Perks like those were near impossible to resist, especially with the accident still weighing on her mind. And so, with no more than a few days consideration, Astrid had gone from civilian statistician to BREME statistician, serving as environmental impact advisor to their secret mining operation, and all other agency operations that would take place in the state of Alaska in the future.

She was lucky that they even bothered with environmental concerns. But, considering that a good chunk of the state was wildlife preserve and state parks, it had to figure into their plans at least a little. BREME, as she was finding out, had to remain invisible, and that meant being everything but untouchable.

"I'm going out to get some fresh air... my legs could use the exercise anyways," she announced, standing up and stretching.

"Cycling?"

"Yeah. Physical therapist said I should be getting in at least an hour a week anyways." She walked over to the steel spiral staircase that led to the mezzanine level, and grabbed the bike that was leaning up against the railing at the bottom. It was painted a metallic green and black.

"Can I drive you?" the Jeep offered. "I think I'll get out for a bit myself while you're doing your thing... I'm in the mood for some rock-crawling."

Astrid had it turned around and looked up at the mech, smiling. "That would be very nice, thank you."

–

The wind in her hair was pure bliss as she powered along the coastal trail, hitting her first mile mark.

Why couldn't everything be as simple as a bike ride? Going only as fast as your legs could take you, or as slow as your hands could break. Your overall well-being would ultimately set the pace, and going off the path in search of steeper, rockier terrain was always voluntary.

Well, she _did_ volunteer to do this, after all.

There was all kinds of pressure from many directions, but no one forced her to take this job. BREME didn't hold a gun to her head, that was for sure.

She'd gotten knocked off the road by the accident, and had elected to keep it that way. But this was a pretty enormous hurdle for her. Keeping secrets and dealing with men in black suits was not her forte. And living in a warehouse was an alien experience... at least all these things made _dating_ an alien seem normal.

Off to her right, she caught sight of a misty plume of water being shot up into the air by a beluga whale. For a brief instant, she forgot about herself. But the moment didn't last long.

The flight southward into Oregon state to meet Hound's "family" would be nerve-wracking at best. She had no idea what to expect. Were any of the others like he and Beachcomber? Or were they the odd bots out the bunch? Maybe the others behaved less casually and more like... _robots_? What if they didn't particularly care for humans? What if they disapproved of her? What if they disapproved of their relationship? She was beginning to feel like a freak of nature again.

_Show me the man who isn't insecure..._

Hound _had_ to feel similarly, right? It wasn't every day that he brought home a human girlfriend, after all. He didn't expressly say how much he'd divulged to his fellows about the nature of their relationship, so that made her a little worried.

And on top of that, her folks were due to be meeting her for the weekend in Portland, where they'd go do an outing or two together, and have some dinners. Mostly, though, they were meeting up so she could explain these recent events to them, talk to them about her new job, and her new partner. Without telling them _too_ much, of course.

"Just get through the next two weeks," she half-breathed, half-chanted as she pumped her legs a little harder to pick up the pace. She hoped the Jeep was having himself a good time out in the hills.

–

Late the next thursday night, Hound and Astrid drove over to Ted Stevens International Airport, cargo terminal facilities. Airport traffic had died down considerably by that hour, but it was still light out, and the city wouldn't see a pitch black night for a couple weeks yet.

She exited the Jeep, and he remained transformed out of necessity. But just because he couldn't be spotted as a giant robot, that didn't mean he couldn't still speak.

"Good evening, Mr. Wells," he said, addressing the BREME suit that was there to make sure that their take off would go smoothly. Astrid could tell he'd switched to business mode.

"Good evening, Hound," he replied, clasping his hands together in front, then turned to the other human. "Ms. Schneider."

She nodded in his direction, smiling politely. "Mr. Wells."

Behind him was a cargo plane, being readied for takeoff. She covered her ears as another aircraft lifted off nearby, scrunching up her face at the noise.

"Your flight will be about 3 hours in length," he informed the two of them, after he could be heard again. "So you'll be arriving in PDX at roughly 2:15, by my watch, and you are to report to us upon arrival at AHQ. All briefing and questioning that transpires during your stay will be on record with both BREME and the Autobots. Got that?"

"Yes, sir," Hound affirmed. Astrid was still getting over calling someone 'sir', so she just nodded.

"That's it, mostly," the Mr. Wells said. "I'm sure you're in for a lot more than that when you get there, Ms. Schneider." And with that, he stepped aside and gestured toward the plane, where (what she assumed to be in-the-know) runway personnel were waiting for them.

As she turned her back to him, walking toward the plane behind a Hound who was going up ahead to get situated inside, she was so very expecting the BREME agent to call out a cryptic 'We'll be watching you' or some such last word, but none came.

"Watch your step," one of the ground crew said as she worked her way up the metal ramp toward a Hound who had made himself quite comfortable in robot mode, sitting down in the cargo hold like this was something he did every day.

"I've got you," he reached forward and extended his enormous hand, which she gratefully took and pulled herself up inside. Hound also grabbed Astrid's duffel bag from the same crew member, setting it down on the floor next to him.

"You can show her where the seats, buckles, and emergency gear are, right?"

Hound nodded. "Just get us off the ground, will ya? We'll take care of things back here."

The crewman just raised his eyebrows and looked off to the side and he and the others prepared to close the gaping aft hatch. "You're the boss," he relinquished with a chuckle.

Astrid had taken to settling between his legs as she was wont to do. It was secure, reasonably comfortable, and allowed her to feel close.

"Cozy?" came the gentle rumble from above her. She looked up to see a smiling face. He bent downward further when she reached up to touch his faceplates, the insatiable desire to give him a peck strong. It was quite the stretch, but they managed to lock lips for a brief moment.

"Yeah, I'm doing alright. There's no way that I'm going to be awake this whole time, though," she sighed, looking about her before settling back down. "I wish I'd brought a pillow or something at least..."

"What, you mean like this?" said the mech, suddenly producing out of subspace a pillow that looked suspiciously like the one on her bed.

She snatched it from him with a wide grin. "No way! Aw, thanks for thinking about me," she said, melting a little inside. How _he_ would have considered something like this and not her made her heart swell. Astrid was making comfy with the pillow on his hip plates when she heard him make a noise.

"Aw, well... I guess you don't need this, then," he said teasingly.

Perking up again, she saw an old, heavy blanket in his hand now, which he carefully lowered onto her.

"Wow, do I owe you..." Astrid adjusted herself so that the blanket was predominantly underneath her, cushioning the hard, cold floor and irritating rivets that covered the metal panels.

"What? That's what people that care about each other do," was his reply, coupled with a hand on her side.

They'd started moving a minute or two before, and were now positioned on the runway, she assumed. There were no windows in the hold, so Hound had to verify for her. Take off was quick and painless: the mech had secured the both of them from being tossed around much.

When they'd leveled out again at their cruising altitude, Astrid snuggled up against his warm body and thighs again. She wasn't quite tired enough to fall asleep yet, though, and now had mischief on her mind when she noticed the bright yellow strips along Hound's front pelvic plate so near to her head. She sometimes liked to refer to them as his "landing strips", as they marked some of his most sensitive areas.

Wiggling one of her arms from under the weight of his hands gently holding her close, Astrid couldn't help but lightly place one of her fingertips along the top left block of yellow, and follow it inward until it led her to the counterweight block between his legs. It was a slightly protruding piece of anatomy, and bore uncanny resemblance to a human male's bulge.

She grinned when the plate heated up and the giant robot around her stirred.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking down, trying hard to keep the grin off his face. His hands had let her go, as though they, too, were waiting to hear her explanation before they decided where they would go.

"Just a little 'thank you' for making this ride comfortable for me..." she offered with a grin.

"Are you... I mean, you sure about..." he tried as she calmly continued her ministrations, until she curled her finger around a cable in the gap between his thigh and pelvic plates. She could hear the machinery in him starting to work harder. "Mmm..."

She brought her tongue into the mix, now: lightly flicking along the edges of the metal forms, sucking at the corners. His hands sought out the contours of her own body; one hand cupped her rear, the other stroked her hair, giving her very restrained nudges of encouragement when she did something particularly right.

"Let's make this a little more interesting," the robot murmured; the sound was equal parts rumbling, equal parts voice. Astrid drew her head back to watch the small transformation. His block panels folded out of the way to reveal some of Wheeljack's modifications: the custom-made holomatter projector, complete with holo wiring sensor arrays and some re-routed fluid cabling, was working like a charm. Above her head the sleek and elegant apparatus, to scale with the rest of him, shot out; hard as rock, and ready to go.

The human licked her lips and promptly got to work.

–

She was woken up by nothing other than the landing itself, and Hound's hands holding her in place as they were lightly tossed about. Astrid groaned and stretched, clinging even more to the hulking form around her once they were on solid ground again, taxiing into their parking spot beside the runway.

Only minimally awake, the human sought to get comfortable again and fall back asleep, but Hound, damn him, knew better. He began to pet her through the blanket.

"C'mon," he said tenderly. "We're here."

"Nnnnnnnn..." She rolled over on the hard floor of the cargo hold, onto her back. "How much of a drive is it... between here an'... AHQ?" Astrid mumbled, sleep heavy on her voice.

"About an hour out of town." Hound was incessant with his petting. She really did just want him to stop so she could get back to sleep. Surely they wouldn't mind letting her stay on the plane until morning, right? A bright light suddenly illuminated the space as the runway crew opened the hatch for them. "Come on, sleepy head," cooed the mech. She was suddenly bundled up very tightly with her blanket and pillow and lifted from the ground. It took a few moments too long to realize that she was being carefully carried out.

"Get her bag in there, would you?" She heard the jeep ask of one of the crew members. "Now come on," he ushered. "I need to put you down so I can transform. You can sleep on the way there, alright?"

"Ohhkay..."

"Atta girl."

With that, he set her down on the tarmac. She didn't like not being in physical contact with him now; it seemed that she was unable to stand very well on her own, and wasn't able to wake up enough to do it either.

"Your bag, ma'am."

Swaying a bit, she took her duffel bag. It seemed heavier now... what in the hell did she pack? No matter, Hound was transformed and she'd be able to get back to sleep again. "Thangs..." she said to the man that handed her the bag, and trudged over to where the Jeep stood. He opened the door for her, and she plopped inside, promptly laying back and falling asleep again as they drove off into the night.

It was well after 3 in the morning when they arrived, but Astrid didn't know it. She was very much sound asleep; so much so, in fact, that she never felt the different pair of hands reaching in to carefully pull her out with Hound's direction, and then hand her back once the green mech had transformed and was standing on his own two feet. He'd covered her head with a fold of blanket so that she wouldn't wake up from the lights as they walked through the base where she would be gently deposited in Hound's temporary quarters.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock.

Astrid groaned and turned over, not quite sure what the sound was, and not quite caring.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Astrid?" came a tentative voice. One that sounded vaguely familiar... Then: "Hm... you're not awake, are you?"

The human turned back around and lifted her head up to take a look in the direction of the voice. Upon opening her eyes and glancing about her surroundings, she realized that she had no idea where she was, or how she'd gotten there, and yet was laying on her own familiar mattress in her own familiar bedding. The hell?

A primal sense of panic filled her when she became disoriented by this, but calmed down again when she recognized the face peeking into the room and the events of the night previous.

AHQ. She was in AHQ.

"Beachcomber? Is that you?" she asked. The room was larger than it seemed. At first glance, it resembled something almost like a dorm room, with storage spaces across from where she was, and a desk beside it. Past her feet was the door, where a certain blue Autobot was stepping in.

"Groovy, you remember this old cat," he said with a smile.

Astrid looked about her surroundings again, her face a little less scrunched up by sleep this time. "Where am I and where'd Hound go? Was I in here all night by myself?"

Beachcomber knelt down in front of her, beside what she decided was a berth. "Naw, naw. He had to go take care o' couple things, you know? Had to get up early for 'em an' all that. Asked me to wake you up at 9 cause sleepin' in makes you feel like a graveyard, man." Astrid laughed groggily. "But yeah, you are in what we robot hipsters call the Ark, and what those cats over with BREME call AHQ. Crazy, huh?"

"The Ark..." She looked around a little more now that she was fully awake. "Are there amenities for humans here? Like... showers and food and stuff?"

"We've got everything you guys need, don't sweat it. In fact, lemme show you around a bit while your mech finishes up his business."

Beachcomber put out his hand beneath the edge of the berth for her to use as a step to get to the floor. It was a manageable height, only about 4-5 feet, but she took him up on the offer. It was too early in the day for her to try and prove anything yet.

"Now, you're a little walk from where the jambakers your size usually stay," he said as they walked. The two of them exited the room and out into a large hallway... well of course it was large, the Autobots weren't exactly a compact group of guys. Astrid realized that she would probably be running into many other mechs other than Optimus Prime during her stay there. The idea of being in a place where she was no bigger than a small housecat to these robots made her a little nervous, in all honesty. "The human quarters are down over here."

"Beachcomber?" she asked in as quiet of a voice she was sure he'd hear her in, looking up and down the hallway, suddenly excited and apprehensive about seeing others like he and Hound in person. "How many Autobots are stationed here right now?"

"Oh, I'd say... I don't know, a few dozen? Maybe 30 or 40 of us? I haven't actually had a pad here for a while now, so I'm not totally sure about that..."

Astrid kept careful pace with his long, blue strides. "And you all watch where you step, right? Autobots are used to dealing with humans?"

"Now don't you worry about that, little lady. No one's gonna blow their jets over you. And if they do, Hound would sooner pull out his irons to preserve your dig-ni-ty. Though, if you're bent on getting some real advice, man, I'd say keep to yourself when the big, yellow bot's around. He doesn't get along with most anybody, not just humans."

She nodded.

"Now the small cats' things are in through that doorway," he said, gesturing to an opening in the wall that came up to his waist. "Not sure where everything is, to be quite honest, but... everythin' should be bum properly labeled, you know."

"Would you mind going back to the room to get my bag? I might as well take a shower while I'm here."

Beachcomber nodded in that smooth, collected way of his. "Sure can, lady. I'll be back in a flash."

With that, he went back down the hall and left her. Astrid turned around and walked inside, finding herself in some kind of sparsely furnished common area. The floor had gone from scuffed metal panels to white, linoleum tiles. The walls were white, and so was the utilitarian corporate lunchroom table in the middle of the space, complete with a plastic top made to look like wood-grain. Along the far wall was a sink, refrigerator, cabinets, and microwave. And off to her right, in a corner, was a fake palm tree.

On the left was another human-sized hallway, leading off into a few rooms. Upon a quick, closer inspection, she saw that they were locked and operated by card-key. These must've been where people usually stayed; it was deserted now, though.

Astrid returned to the kitchenette and started opening cabinets. Costo-sized boxes of nonperishable foods lined the shelves: granola bars, popcorn, cans of tuna, instant mashed potatoes, instant coffee, a few boxes of Pasta Roni, a bottle of soy sauce, packets of mustard and honey... among other oddities.

"Oh great," she said to herself. "This is going to be a weird breakfast."

"Here you go!" Beachcomber called out from the larger section of hallway, setting her bag on the ground. "I'm gonna let you do what you gotta do, if that's alright with you, man."

She'd turned around, but would bother with her bags when it was time to take a shower. "Sounds good," she called back. "And thank you!"

He bent over, holding onto the wall, so she could see his face. "I've also let your Jeep know where you are, for future... reference," he said, and then stood up and left. "I'll catch you two cats later!"

"See you around!"

She returned her attentions to the fridge, then. Lo and behold, however, there was nothing to be found inside except a single can of cheap beer (with the rest of the plastic rings still stuck to it), a small tub of margarine, and an expired jar of peanut butter. Worse than the cabinets. But just for the hell of it, Astrid opened up the freezer, expecting it, too, to be full of strange, near-inedibles. Instead, what she found were frozen entrees, hash browns, veggies, dairy, and nothing other than breakfast burritos. The day was saved.

After 2 minutes in the microwave, Astrid sat down at the table to eat, and began to notice the eerie silence of the place. When she paused chewing for a few moments to listen, she couldn't hear a thing. It was a little... disconcerting, she thought, and went back to her breakfast.

When that was over, she'd gone back to retrieve her duffel bag from where Beachcomber had left it, and decided to peer out from her little human area to see if anyone was around. The Autobot-sized hallway that the passage connected to was long- some fifty yards was her estimate. Just then another mech passed at the end, studying something in his hands, and was gone.

She found herself wondering about him as she wandered over to the showers, laying out her toiletries and clean clothes. Who was he? What was his name, his specialties? What did he turn into? Did he like Earth? Did he want to go home? What did he think of humans?

He was all whites and grays, with some protrusion from his shoulder. His body looked very different from Hound's, his car-form a vastly different vehicle, she surmised.

When Astrid's shower was over, and the water turned off, she heard a sound. It sounded like... whistling? A little unnerved but determined to find out where it was coming from, she tentatively existed the shower stall, and slowly opened the door to the bathroom, peering outside. Nobody. She tiptoed down the hall, glancing around the corner and half-expecting someone to be sitting at the table, enjoying a nasty cup of instant coffee. Still, no one, but the whistling grew louder. Then she realized that it was coming from somewhere outside the designated human area.

She stuck her head out and saw Hound there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed across his green chest. When she appeared, he stopped and looked down at her with a smile.

"All cleaned up?" he asked, crouching down. They exchanged a kiss.

"Yep." she answered. And then, gesturing around her: "Where is everyone? This whole place seems deserted."

"The Ark is pretty big, with basements and sub-basements made from pieces of our old ship. Most everyone's on-duty right now as well, so they're either out on business, or here, doing whatever it is that they do... maintaining the med bay, working in the labs, working the communications and security terminals, things like that. The facilities where the real stuff happens are all downstairs for the most part. Up here is the guest quarters and BREME stuff, mostly. Emergency deployment bays as well, with a few weapon stores."

Astrid nodded, looking around again and feeling underwhelmed by what she saw. So far, it was just hallways and what was essentially a crappy office space.

"C'mon, I want you to meet some of the guys," said the Jeep, standing up and beckoning for the human to follow. "Before you meet Prowl and Prime."

"The "guys"?" she asked, getting a little nervous again.

"Yeah! Some of my old buddies."

And with that, they walked back down the hall, passing the room that Astrid could have sworn was the one that Beachcomber had led her out from earlier. But it was hard to tell, because all the doorways looked the same, and she couldn't quite read what each one was labeled. Hound had to walk slower to keep pace with his girl.

"What language is that in?" she asked at length, pointing to the symbols beside the doors.

"Cybertronian," he answered, taking a quick glance at what she was referring to. He chuckled. "Weird, huh?"

They walked down to the end of the hallway where Astrid had seen the mech walking, where they rounded the corner and proceeded in the same direction as he did. There wasn't much more to see this way, though. Enormous doors lined the way, each of them closed and with what looked like keypads next to them. Locked.

Rounded one more corner, then, and came to what appeared to be a freight elevator. They stepped inside the cavernous thing, and headed downward.

She was beginning to realize that perhaps Hound wasn't the only-sized Autobot amid the ranks. Perhaps the standard size, but judging by the size of the doors, halls, and elevator, there must have been bots much bigger than he wandering about. Much bigger. The thought made her slightly uneasy. How big was the yellow one that Beachcomber had warned her about?

Astrid was staring straight ahead, more or less, her arm draped loosely around his knee-joint. He seemed to notice the concerned expression on her face, because he gave her a quick, gentle word of reassurance.

"It'll be fine, don't worry. Nobody bites, here."

Just then the elevator doors opened, revealing quite a sight and stealing the breath from her lungs. Oh my god, she'd tried to say.

Before them was an enormous room, some 40 feet high, she guessed. It was like a hangar, almost. Along one wall was a structure that looked suspiciously like a bar, scaled appropriately. Near the other was an area that bore resemblance to a living room, complete with "couches", "coffee tables", and a TV that was nearly the size of an IMAX screen.

And who was occupying the room but a crowd of giant, alien robots.

"Oh my god."

Some of them had turned to see who was making an appearance, their interest mildly piqued upon noticing that there was a civilian human with one of their own. Most of them, however, didn't seem to notice much at all. In fact, the ones crowding around the TV were be totally and completely engrossed in a football game, as far as she could tell.

"Who's that you've got there, Hound?" called a bot from the bar. She saw a large, black Autobot lean back in his seat to make himself visible. There was a visor covering his eyes and a big, lopsided grin on his face.

"Come on," he said down to her, and strode over to his friend. "Trailbreaker, this is Astrid. She's on the team for the mining project in Alaska with me."

She craned her neck to look up at the two of them, not quite sure how she felt about being at their feet the way she was.

"Hey there!" was the greeting. Trailbreaker leaned down to shake her hand with one larger than Hound's. "I'm Trailbreaker, resident one-mech pep-rally. Nice to meet ya!"

"Soon-to-be BREME project advisor," she introduced.

"How about you set her up on the bar here, Hound? That way we can all talk like normal folks," Trailbreaker suggested, patting the surface with his right hand. The left, she saw, was holding an energon cube.

Hound looked to her. "Sound okay to you?"

"Don't see why not," Astrid shrugged. Hound then knelt down to pick her up. One hand (assertively) went to support her rear, and the other gingerly gripped her side, under the arm, before lifting her into the arm and setting her down again. Other bots sitting at the bar began to take some more notice of her presence then. Hound turned to a smaller, red and black mech sitting on the other side of him who was trying to get a better look at her, and introduced him. "Astrid, Windcharger. Windcharger, Astrid."

"Welcome to the Ark," he said, lifting up his cube of purple stuff in something of a toast. "Couldn't help but overhear... so you and Hound are partners now?"

"Yeah, they have you working with BREME, huh?" Trailbreaker piped in.

"Hm?" Another mech, who was sitting on the other side of Trailbreaker, became interested in the situation, it seemed, when BREME was mentioned. "We've got a human visitor? How come nobody told me!"

He stood up to catch a glimpse at the woman sitting on the bar, trying to see out from behind the black mech's bulky form. He, too, was wearing a visor, and had a mostly white body with black, red, and blue accents.

Astrid just waved as he gave up and walked around Trailbreaker to get a better look. "Sorry Jazz," Trailbreaker said. "But I'm not moving."

"Yeah, yeah," he dismissed with a wave of his hand good-naturedly. "Can the lip over there, would ya?"

"Like hell I will,' he retorted, taking a gulp of energon. "This mouth is my greatest weapon. I've been told my humor is quite disarming."

"Quite the wordsmith," the mech named Jazz said in a low voice, thumbing at Trailbreaker as though he weren't sitting right next to him. Hound laughed, and so too did Astrid. "So you're Hound's girl, huh?" he asked. "Put 'er here." Jazz, too, stuck out his gigantic hand for a shake.

"Well, I uh..." Astrid glanced over to the Jeep for some kind of hint as to what she should be telling these guys.

"His girl!" howled Trailbreaker. "You just going to sit there and take that? You gotta stick up for yourself a little bit around Jazz. He can get vicious." He leaned in, smiling widely.

Astrid could feel herself turning beet red, and laughed nervously. Fortunately, Hound butted in.

"C'mon, guys," he butt in. "We're just work partners."

"Famous last words," jested Jazz with a wink in his voice, then turned back to the human female on the bar counter. "So what is it that you're going to be working on all the way up there with the Jeep?"

"I'm just a project advisor," she stated confidently, ignoring the earlier jabs at the possibility of her and Hound being more than just partners. "Environmental impact analyst, to be more specific. I'll be there to make sure they don't screw up the ecosystem more than they need to."

"All because they're digging in a state park?" Trailbreaker asked, polishing off his cube and setting it down next to her. The empty container came up to her knee, she noticed.

"Well, I'd hope that they'd want an environmental advisor regardless of where they were digging. Just so happens that this one happens to be in a protected area. Apparently lots of strings had to be pulled, and hoops jumped through to even get the plan approved."

"Man, imagine that, guys," Jazz mused. "Pure energon, right here on Earth."

Hound twisted up his mouth. "Yeah, but who said that we'd ever see a_ tic_² of it ourselves? Whatever BREME says, goes. Otherwise, we're outta here."

Jazz laid a hand down on Hound's shoulder. Astrid watched, realizing that his arm had traveled some 10 feet to complete the gesture. "Aw, c'mon, dude. BREME's not all that bad. They've got some good folk workin' for 'em, with our best interests genuinely at heart."

Hound seemed to consider this. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. After all, they did set us up with a place to live..." The green mech caught himself. "Er, work together."

Astrid glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his slip up, and her eyes ended up meeting Trailbreakers. She could have sworn that the corner of his mouth turned up and a pair of optics behind the visor flashed in a knowing sort of way.

"No way," said another voice. A mech walking behind the crowd of bots now standing at the bar stopped when he caught a glance at the human sitting there. Getting used to this kind of behavior now, Astrid just smiled and waved at the newcomer. He eventually pushed his way past Jazz and Hound to get a better look. "Hey, this that human you ran into trouble with over in Nevada not long ago? What's she doing at AHQ?"

Hound rolled his eyes, causing Astrid to smile a bit. "Yes, this is her. Why don't you introduce yourself at least? It's not like she doesn't understand what you're saying."

"Oh, right!" This new bot was black and silver, with red horn-looking things sticking out form the front of his helmet. She was surprised to see whole car doors protruding out of his backside, windows rolled down of course. "Hey, name's Bluestreak," he said. "We heard all about your tussle with those slaggin' hunters back in June. What was it like from your perspective? Did you give any of 'em the old one-two? What about the cops? How'd you deal with them?"

"Hey, hey, hey, now," Trailbreaker interrupted, pushing him back with a big hand. "We're not done hearing about her new job with Hound, yet. You'll have plenty of time to get your gossip stories later, kid."

She saw Hound trying suppress laughter as Bluestreak made a strange hand gesture and emit a few odd sounds before stepping back to let the original discussion finish up.

"And watch your language!"

All the bots laughed a bit at Bluestreak's expense, but she quickly saw that it was nothing outside of routine for them all.

"So tell us about that energon," Trailbreaker encouraged once the laughter died down. "They don't tell us anything around here, unless they want us to do something."

"Yeah, that's the impression I'm getting when it comes to government agencies," Astrid chuckled, beginning to be more at ease with this group. "Uhm..." she began, noticing that Hound was standing as close to her as he possibly could, his hand down on the counter-top right next to her. Was he subconsciously being... possessive? Astrid giggled inwardly at the thought. "Well, they didn't tell me much either, other than that it was my job to let them know if they were screwing up the local water and ecosystems. They'll be mining at a depth of some 500 feet, I think, but that's about it, to be honest. I don't know how big the deposit is, how it got there, or how big the operation is going to be. I mean, I may not have any kind of criminal record, but it's not like they're going to trust an analyst with sensitive information that she doesn't need to know, you know?"

The bots nodded a bit.

Trailbreaker looked over at Bluestreak, who was still standing behind Jazz; it seemed he was quite unable to pry himself away from a good story. It looked like a few seconds of silent communication happened between them before the black truck? turned back to Astrid. "Okay, go on and tell the story of how you and Hound met Hound. Bluestreak is clearly chompin' at the bit, over there."

She could tell by the way he leaned in that he was genuinely interested too. She turned to Hound, and he gave her a look that said "tell 'em as much as you feel comfortable with".

"Okay. I guess the story really starts at some point during September of last year, when I heard that some friends were going to be spending the week in Yosemite the following April. I got this crazy idea to backpack down there to meet them, and drive back up to Tahoe. I spent the next months planning the trip, but there wasn't much of anything that I could have done to predict the rock slide some 50 miles in..."

Astrid continued on from there. She glanced at Hound during certain points in the story- sometimes he would butt in to give his perspective, or relate some information that she couldn't have known at the time. But even then, the both of them were very careful about their choice of words and what parts they decided to leave out.

"Vector Sigma," said Trailbreaker when she was done. "Now, see, this woman here is keepin' it real. Next time an Autobot complains about humans being an inferior race, you hold him against the wall and tell him her story."

Jazz nodded. "Some of us could use some remindin' sometimes, that's for sure."

Bluestreak looked dumb-struck. "Wow! That's amazing that your organic little body can take so much. And those Xeno-Hunters? Boy am I glad you got the chance to kick their sorry tailpipes all the way to jail! They're nothing but trouble around here."

"Yep, she handled the situation expertly," Hound said, beaming. Just then a raucous series of cries erupted from the bots watching the game, which apparently was over. Some proceeded to stand up, stretch some, and bid the others farewell as they went back to work. The channel was changed to a rerun of House. Seeing the game end, the Jeep took it as a cue to turn to the group and bid a quick farewell. "Well, I guess that means we need to get going... got a meeting with Optimus and then Prowl later."

"Oh, well you wouldn't wanna get on Prowl's slag-list, so you'd better get going," Jazz light-heartedly quipped as Hound bent down a bit, motioning for her to get back into his hands so he could lower her to the floor.

"Nice meetin' you, Astrid!" Trailbreaker said, giving her a little bit of a salute once she was back on the ground again. "Hope to see you around again before you leave."

"Don't worry, we'll catch you guys again," Hound said. "I wanna know what you crazy slags have been up to, as well."

"Slags?" Jazz said, turning back to the black mech with feigned indignation. "Three months with a girl and he comes back using language like that. Tsk tsk. We'll see you later, broski!"

"Broski!" Hound laughed. "Now that's one I haven't heard before. We'll see you all later."

"Nice meeting you all!" Astrid called back as they headed for the elevator again. Once they were back inside its relative privacy, Hound crouched down to get closer to her eye-level again.

"See, they all liked you," he said with a smile before beckoning her to meet him halfway for a kiss, and then rose up again just in time for the doors to open on a level some floors below the one they'd just been on.

The metal here wasn't the sleek, brushed silvery aluminum-looking stuff that the upper basements were made of. The elevator was made of the selfsame material, as was the area just outside when they stepped out. But the paneling beyond that was a coppery sort of orange; a strange and unearthly metal that just reminded Astrid where exactly she was and who she was dealing with.

"Which one are we meeting first?" she asked in a near-whisper.

"Optimus Prime," Hound replied, slowly navigating the place before coming up to a closed door. It was... massive she noticed, gulping. Some 7-8 feet higher than Hound, she thought.

Well, it's only fitting for the leader of the Autobots to be that big...

She didn't even notice Hound kneel down beside her, and grasp her hands, which turns out she was mindlessly wringing together. Only looking up a little now, her eyes met hers. Even in her most stressful moments, that soft blue light always seemed to be able to calm her down.

"It's going to be alright," he said softly, not taking his eyes off her. "Prime's the kindest, wisest, and most compassionate being you'll ever meet. Now just take a deep breath..."

Astrid did as she was told.

And felt a little better.

"Better?"

She nodded, and Hound smiled, putting his free hand against her cheek. "This'll be quick, I promise."

"I know, it's just... nevermind. Let's get this over with." She put on a determined face and looked him straight in the eye.

Hound stood up again and knocked. The sound reverberated in her bones, it felt like. The door slid open with a soft hiss- some kind of pneumatic system? Hound stopped in the doorway, turning and motioning for her to enter before him, so she gathered up every ounce of confidence and professionalism she had in her, and stepped over the threshold.

Astrid fought hard against the urge to let her mouth fall open upon entering. In the middle of the room, which was on the smaller side for an Autobot, was an enormous desk that rose some 10 feet from the floor. She could only guess at what covered its surface after catching glimpses of things that Hound had called data pads. But from behind the desk he rose, looming like an elegantly orchestrated moving tower of metal painted red and blue. She saw pieces of vehicle on him too; some kind of commercial freight truck, she guessed, from the shapes of the windows that adorned his chest and the size of the tires that lined the sides of his legs.

His face was almost entirely obscured by some kind of mask, but the blue of his eyes were unmistakable as they shone brilliantly down at her.

"Welcome to the Ark, Ms. Schneider," he said, his voice commanding, yet kind, in a fatherly sort of way. "My name is Optimus Prime, Autobot commander. Why don't you two have a seat?"

They did, and door hissed shut behind them.

* * *

><p><em>¹ The Bureau of the Regulation of Extraterrestrial Mechanical Entities, founded in 1991<em>

² _2.8 Earth ounces._


	2. Far Cry

Hound saw out of the corner of his eye Astrid look around for a place to sit, then up at him with a pleading sort of look. He pointed out a low scaffolding on the wall adjacent to the desk, with a short set of stairs for humans to climb and situate themselves upon during meetings with Prime in his personal office. He watched her awkwardly climb the thing, and sit down at one of two corporate-looking chairs in front of some computers that were currently off.

She looked estranged over there, and Hound knew that she was uncomfortable. He promised her that this would be quick, however, and the Jeep would be damned if he couldn't keep his word.

"So," began Prime once everyone was comfortable in their seats. "You two have been chosen to work with the Bureau on this mining operation, I see?" He pulled up a data pad and began to look over the project file behind the desk.

"Yes sir," the Jeep and human chimed in at nearly the same time. Hound couldn't help but keep a close watch on her: body temperature and heart rate had risen to what he could safely assume to be uncomfortable levels. Oh dear.

"And the two of you know what this operation is going to involve? Most of this is Class B information," he stated, setting down the data pad again and meeting Hound's gaze with a questioning look. "I'm just making sure we're all on the same page."

"Uhh," Astrid ventured meekly. "From what I understand, it's a type 12 project, meaning that it's of potential interest to all... three factions. Because of possible Decepticon involvement, much of the project data specific to the site remains Class A classified. I'm not a vital part of the managing crew or with intelligence, so Class A stuff is withheld from me."

"What are you allowed to know, then?"

"Methods of extraction, what machinery, equipment, chemicals and substances that will be present on-site, and I'll have access to all incoming environmental data for the sake of analysis. I will be advising the BREME project managers on what effects the operation is having on the water and ecosystems as work progresses, so that they may fine tune their methods and take the land into consideration should changes to the plan need to be made."

"Your role is important, I see," Prime said, nodding. The Autobot leader turned then to Hound, who straightened up in his chair. "And you are there as an EME advisor?"

"Yes, sir," nodded the Jeep. "And anti-Decepticon stopgap."

"Surely you could not hold ground by yourself in the face of an attack, could you?"

"I could try, sir. But my duties also are to scramble Autobot jets in the case of a raid, and to assist in initial BREME defense strategies based on which Decepticons were present."

Hound knew that Prime wasn't asking these questions because he was stupid or out of the loop- he wanted to make sure the two of them knew exactly what they were getting into. The Bureau was a double-edged sword, as the Autobots had figured out the hard way some time back. As a mediator and regulatory body, it considered the Autobots an asset first, and allies second. Much of the time the bots worked _for_ them; rarely with them.

"Astrid," Prime said, bringing his hands together on the desk top as he dispensed with the formalities. "Have anyone informed you of what the Decepticons are?"

Hound felt her falter here, and he did too: it was a subject he either avoided, forgot about, or simply glossed over in his time with her. "Well, er... not much beyond the fact that they pose a continuous threat?"

"That they do." He stoop up here and walked to the far end of his desk, to allow better visibility of a pair of large holo screens that appeared in front of the wall behind Prime's chair, alighting in segments. On them were photos of some in the midst of attacks on human facilities. He recognized most of the attackers as Prime slowly scrolled through the slideshow of destruction: Skywarp and Thundercracker attacking an oil tanker off the coast of Venezuela; Soundwave and his minions taking control of a nuclear plant in France, Stunticons having a field day leveling a rural town somewhere far to the north.

"Hundreds upon hundreds of humans die in these "accidents" every year," Prime said. "The Decepticons are desperate for energy just as we were. So far, we have been successful in our efforts to keep them from forming alliances with humans, and keep them starved. Without surplus energy, they can do little more than carry on like thugs and petty thieves, and surely do they hate us for it." The Peterbilt sat down again. "If they discover that there is energon located in Chugach State Park, they will not hesitate to attack."

"Yes, sir," Hound said, suddenly a little nervous himself. Astrid nodded.

"Good. Now," The Jeep sensed that Prime was changing the subject, and boy was he right. "I understand that the two of you are in an intimate relationship with one another. Is this true?"

Hound looked at Astrid, and she looked at him, before turning back to Optimus a moment later. "Y-yes... sir. That is correct." His spark felt like it had shrunk and was cowering in the corner of its chamber, tail between his legs.

"What you do when you're off-duty is none of my business, Hound, but I want you to know that there are others among the ranks that are less tolerant than I."

"I'm well aware of that, Prime. We... we both intend to keep this as private as possible."

"Is this affair going to interfere with your ability to follow orders as an advisor, data and imaging specialist, tracker, and soldier?"

Hound sat up straight again and shook his head. "No, sir," he replied firmly.

"And you, Astrid?"

"No, sir."

"Good," Prime conceded. "Hound, you are one of my most loyal, and hard-working soldiers. I trust your word and your judgment. Do me proud."

The Jeep couldn't help bu smile. "Thank you, Prime. Will do."

"And Astrid, I look forward to seeing what you're capable of. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, sir."

"You two are dismissed."

Hound waited for his human in the doorway as she descended the stairs and was back on the ground again. They were about to leave, but Prime fit in one more word of warning.

"Oh and Hound? Good luck with Prowl today. I hear he's not in the best of moods right now."

"Oh great," he muttered, then picked up his voice again. "Thanks for the heads up, sir."

The door shut quietly behind them, leaving only the _pitter__-__patter_ and and _rumble__rumble_ of their footfalls. Hound looked over Astrid again as she walked in silence beside him. Her body temperature had gone down somewhat, and heart rate too, but not completely. He noticed that her hands were much colder than the rest of her as well, oddly enough.

"Did you want to go back to the break room before we meet up with Prowl? I'm sure there are plenty more bots that would love to meet you..."

"No thanks," she said in a low voice. "I think I just want to go back to the room for a little while."

They arrived at the elevator, but Hound didn't call it. "Are you okay?" She sounded down, it seemed, and preoccupied with her own thoughts. Whatever good mood he'd been in was suddenly gone.

"It's nothing."

Hound looked down at her, worry etched into his face. She would have seen it if she'd looked up, but her eyes were cast downward as well. The mech sighed and called the elevator.

The upper levels were just as deserted as the bottom-most ones, and they again trod along in what Hound felt to be an uncomfortable silence. He hated this. He didn't like it when someone was angry with him, or when someone he cared about was distraught. It weighed heavily on his CPU; empathy seemed to be just another part of his core programming. So when the two of them were settled back down in their temp room, Hound couldn't help but press the issue further. If something was bothering her, it would bother him.

"You know, you can tell me anything," he tried, plopping down on the berth and assisting her up too. "That's supposed to be one of the perks of being in a relationship, or so I hear."

Unfortunately, the humor was lost on her. "I feel stupid here," she sighed.

"Stupid?"

"Yeah, stupid. I feel ignorant and naïve... I'm still weirded out by you guys, even though I have no reason to be. I feel stupid walking around everyone's feet like a dog, not being able to reach anything..." she took a breath here, and Hound used the opportunity to put his hand to her back. "I feel like I'm relying on you too much."

"Relying on me too much?" Hound asked, almost finding her concerns humorous. "Let me put it this way," he said, holding her face in his hand and turning her to look at him. "If you had a friend from a foreign country staying with you while visiting, would they be relying on your too much when they depended on you to explain the customs and the people? Or if they asked you how to get around?"

"It's not like that."

"Then tell me what it's like so I can understand you better. I'm a robot, not a mind-reader." The Jeep's brow ridges were pushed together and he frowned. It wasn't the response he was hoping for... "What's bothering you?"

"Nevermind," she murmured, facing away from him. "You're not really helping."

"Not helping?" Hound blurted out, taken aback. His hand was quickly removed from her lumbar region from the sting. "I'm trying to figure out what's gotten you feeling like this! You gotta help me help you, here."

"I... I need to take a walk."

Astrid let herself down from the edge of the berth and onto the floor with a light _thud_; Hound scrambled to the edge to make sure she was alright, what with her knee and all. But by the time he got there, she was already halfway to the door.

"Let me out, please?"

"Where are you going?"

"Let me out, Hound," she demanded. Then with a hiss: "I can't even open this goddamned door by myself."

He remained there on the berth, awkward position though it was, and looked at her with optics partially obscured by a face scrunched up by a bubbling defensiveness. She just stood there next to the door, challenging his gaze with her own. Her vitals were up again, he noticed.

After a while, he got up from where he sat, not bothering to lessen whatever noise he would make by doing so. Hound noted that she jumped a little when his feet hit the floor and he walked over to her. This was one of the rare times that he was made fully aware of how much larger he was than her- for some reason, it only made itself painfully apparent when he was angry. For all the other times, it was natural and fun, if not forgotten about entirely.

He remembered looking down at her that time on the hillside when she'd leaped up on his foot in order to get him to stop walking. Even then, she was barely thigh-high, as he recalled. And even now, as he looked down at the small, fleshy body standing so close to one of his legs, each weighing some 900 pounds, she was confident in her safety. Confident that he would let her out and let her give in to her demons in solitude for while.

"Move," he half-grunted half-sighed, waving her away from where she stood with one of his proportionately massive feet. She stepped out of the way, allowing Hound room to give a swift, but gentle kick to a panel at the bottom. With a click, the door slid open. "Don't go too far. We've got that second meeting soon," were his final parting words before she noiselessly rounded the corner, possibly bristling.

Normally, Hound would have trained his sensors on her to keep track of what direction she was headed in, but didn't this time. It felt too invasive to him.

–

Later, there was a knock on the door.

"Yeah, come in," Hound called, quickly subspacing Astrid's bedding. He was sitting on the berth again, back up against the wall, and arms folded across his chest when a certain Porche came in.

"Hey, yo. Just wanted to check in and see how you two were doing over here... hey, where's your lady friend?"

Hound perked up from where he was stewing, trying to shake the frustration off like dew. "Oh her? Ah, she's just off doing something for a while, I guess."

"You _guess__?_" There was a knowing look behind his visor. He paused for a moment here, rubbing at his chin-guard contemplatively. Jazz gazed at the wall as he did this for a little bit for effect (he did lots of things for effect), before slowly turning back to Hound, who was desperately hoping the 2IC had a ray of sunshine for him someplace. But, alas, it just wasn't in the cards. "You two got into a fight, didn't you?" He smiled and spoke slowly, as though he'd discovered some kind of shameful secret of the Jeep's.

Granted, he sort of did.

Slag, Hound was awful at keeping secrets. Absolutely, positively, _awful_. That was mostly due to the fact that he'd never had anything worth hiding from others, or much of anything to be embarrassed of. He also, unfortunately, wore his emotions on his sleeves. It was probably one of his biggest weaknesses, truth be told.

Jazz closed in, still grinning, as Hound continued to not answer. The Jeep's silence was apparently an admittance of guilt. Dammit!

"_Yes__!_" Jazz burst out, hands clenched into fists of victory. "I _knew_ you two were together! Bluestreak's officially 2 shifts of weapons maintenance richer."

Hound cast him a weary and accusatory look. "You all were making _bets_ on this?"

"Oh, c'mon, man... it was just a bit of fun," Jazz backtracked.

"Don't you "c'mon, man" me," Hound spat. "Screw you."

"Alright, look." Jazz switched to dead serious mode and closed the door. "Truth is, we've all been theorizin' since the news broke about what went down in Elko back in... what was it... May?"

"Yeah, and theorizing about all of what's wrong with me, or who dropped me as a protoform and dented my spark chamber? Or what lines of core code are corrupted? Because only a _really_ messed-up mech would like Earth and its inhabitants more than Cybertron, right? Please." Hound's intakes were working hard now as the rush of words left him. "Spare me."

"Well just hold on now a minute, man!" Jazz's voice rose the slightest bit, and Hound was reminded of just why the Porche occupied a position of authority at AHQ. The Jeep was immediately declawed.

"I-I'm sorry, Jazz... not sure where that came from."

"That came out like a speech you've been practicing or somethin'. You had no intention of coming out to anyone, did you?" His voice softened to an understanding tone.

"Well, judging by the way gossip travels around here, I'd say so."

"For the record, I get where you're coming from, though."

Hound lifted up his head to look perplexedly at the second-in-command. "You... do?"

Jazz nodded solemnly. "BREME gave me a human partner for a couple months of special ops work once. Back in the 90's, one of the first big missions I got working with human powers was in the Balkans during the Yogoslavian Wars. Partner's name was Marissa Faireborn. Things were ugly over there, so I took whatever downtime I could get, and due to the nature of the mission, she was always right there with me."

The Jeep was hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. Now, I may not have had with her what you've got with this gal, but I get it, man. Marissa's the one that helped me see the value of Earth cultures. And music! She helped me discover music."

"Do you still talk to her?"

"Enh, sometimes. She left BREME when she thought she was getting too old for being out in the field, and switched over to a CIA administrative job. Can't blame her. She's got a life to live, you know?"

Hound nodded.

Was that the fate that he and Astrid were destined for?

The idea frightened him.

"Do you think it could have ever worked out between you?"

"I dunno, it's hard to say. I think she wanted a family at some point, and that's definitely not something I could have given her. But it's like I said... it never really occurred to me that it was even possible? I liked her, but not like how you like Astrid, if you get my meaning. I understand the connection, though. I felt it. And no, you don't have any screws loose. I checked with Ratchet, already." Jazz smiled again, and slapped Hound on the shoulder; he couldn't help but laugh a little himself. "But in all honesty, I'd say you were one of the more normal 'bots around here, and _definitely_ one of the most level-headed. Besides, just think of this as a valuable insight that not too many of us got."

"Thanks Jazz."

"And as for that argument... that's not something I wanna touch with a ten-foot pole. Sorry! Playing mediator for people's personal affairs ain't my style. And if you two like each other as much as we've been "theorizin'", then I'm sure you'll make it through this in no time."

Hound looked down at his knees, as the rest of his legs were hanging off the edge of the berth.

She felt stupid? How could she? Hound was unable to understand that sentiment. Dependent? Maybe it was all the picking up, and putting down, and relying on him to reach and do things for her that she didn't like. Well, what did she expect at AHQ? The Autobots were Autobot-sized, and they needed Autobot-sized accommodations in their own base. Things like sufficient _headroom_. Honestly, he thought she was being somewhat unfair.

"I hope so."

–

A little while later, Hound had found himself amongst familiar company again in Jazz's office. Trailbreaker, Beachcomber, Skids, and Mirage were also there. It was almost like old times. Almost.

"What's got _him_ down?" Mirage said, gesturing at Hound to Jazz. The round of energon was courtesy of the Porche, but the tracker's cube was the first one empty. Everyone had gotten together away from the noise of the large break room, and was busy chumming it up on one of the rare occasions that they all had free time at once.

Hound, normally one of the chummiest of the group, had spent most of the time playing with his finger digits and scrunching up his face in thought. Once again, keeping secrets and hiding emotions were not his strong suit. Not by a long shot.

The Jeep saw Jazz glance at him for some kind of verification. "Er, I uh... he... um... did something... stuff," he mumbled, then: "You should go cheer him up!"

Jazz knew that this was Hound's business and his choice to tell what to whom, and Hound appreciated that. He thought as to how the others did it... Powerglide and Tracks? How did their stories reach the Ark? Hound remembered that almost all of it was just hearsay, and that real verifications, real "coming out"s, had been to a select, open-minded few. Hound had always supported them and their decisions, respected who they chose to give their sparks to, but he never thought it would happen to him.

In fact, it didn't really quite occur to him just how much he loved this planet, and just how much he admired and envied humans until Astrid came along. Pairing up with one of them never crossed his CPU until after it actually happened. Joined the "knee-high club", as he'd heard others toss around in reference to the rumored Autobot human-lovers. Sapiophiles?

Hound was rudely interrupted from his reveries when another energon cube was shoved into his face.

"C'mon, you green bastard. Cheer up, would ya?" Mirage was never one for niceties, despite having come from the Cybertron capital of polite society prior to the war. Though somehow, his flat, matter-of-fact way of speaking just made his shining moments of dry comedy just that much more hilarious. Hound couldn't help but crack a smile as he took the second cube. The stuff, while still manufactured by Wheeljack's own distillery, was little more than weak slickwire; not as strong as the 70-proof fuel that he'd brought with him to Astrid's party. Hound admittedly wasn't much of a drinker; some bots could pound down what they'd started calling "puke lube", or "liquid EMP" because of how fast enthusiasts had to run to the head to purge afterward. The more... raucous among them were known to be big fans.

"Alright, alright."

"Where's your girl, Hound?" Trailbreaker said, turning from where he was drawing caricatures of Prowl and Ratchet on Jazz's holo-board. Hound saw they were both sporting buckteeth and top hats.

"How many times do I have to tell you people, she's not "my" girl... we're just work partners," Hound said, exasperated. Please, Primus, please let him be able to lie convincingly just this once!

"You can tell us however many times you want, we're still gonna make fun of you," Trailbreaker retorted merrily.

Hound rolled his optics. "She's off... doing stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Okay, fine. She got mad at me."

"Uh oh, what'd you do? Crush her toes?"

"Snore?"

"Leave the toilet seat up?"

"She was getting overwhelmed and felt like I was crowding her," he flatly spelled out for them.

"Well... it is her first time here. Can be a little intimidating, I guess. She's probably just letting off some steam."

Hound looked at the cube in his hand, now slowly emptying. "You know, drinking this right before meeting with Prowl is probably a terrible idea. Like, a _really_ terrible idea."

"You're meeting with Prowl about you and this broad, soon? Well in that case, I'd say you should be drinkin' _more_," laughed Skids.

"You two seeing him about scheduling stuff?" Jazz asked.

The Jeep shrugged. "Guess so. He's Mr. Paperwork... probably going to make Astrid sign a bunch of stuff, too." His internal chronometer read about 1100 hours, so another 20 minutes until the tango with Prowl. "I've got another 10 before I need to get going here to find my partner."

"Well, come on, then!" Trailbreaker announced. "You've got 10 minutes to finish that drink. Chop, chop."

–

Sensor arrays, their feedback a little hazy through the energon in his system, combed the hallways of the floor L1. He didn't catch sight or wind of anyone the size of a human around, so he resorted to calling for her. What? It seemed like an alright idea to him.

"Astrid!" he started, mechanized voice echoing down the corridors. Vector Sigma, he hated his own voice. "Aaaaastriiiiiid!" Where the hell had she buggered off to? "AAAAST-"

"What in the world are you yelling for?" came a voice from behind him, cool and calculating in its tenor.

Hound whirled around to find himself face to face with Prowl.

"What?"

"_Why__are__you__yelling_?" Prowl repeated, over-enunciating every syllable.

"I'm looking for my... partner."

"You mean the human that we are due to be consulting with in a matter of minutes downstairs?" Prowl's face had not changed one bit through the entire conversation aside from cocking a single brow ridge here.

"...yes. That one. I seem to have misplaced her."

The Datsun looked Hound up and down, his nasal ridge curling up. "You've been drinking slipwire, haven't you?" he demanded.

"This isn't what it looks like-"

"Find Agent Schneider _immediately__,_ so we can get this circus over with," Prowl snapped. "I'll be waiting for you two in my office. I expect you to be there in _5 __minutes_. And that is an order."

Hound straightened up. "Yes, sir."

"And I do not want to hear you yelling. Your designation is tracker, right? Use your damned sensors like a normal mech instead of being an annoyance for those of us who are here to get work done." With that, Prowl disappeared in a flurry of rules and protocol.

Slag- if Astrid was uncomfortable during the Prime meeting, she was in for a kick in the butt with this guy. "Jackass," he muttered under his breath, and continued with the search.

Hound walked around slowly, glancing about him as he turned on all sorts of optical arrays in order to try and spot her somewhere nearby. Tracking was much easier to do outdoors than in here. For one, you had things like footprints to work with. He tried tracing some residual body heat down the halls, but no go. For a human, those tracks would have disappeared in a matter of minutes.

He turned to his density scanners, then, and did a sweep of the area. Detecting small objects far away took incredible amounts of focus, as the image grew messier and harder to pick apart the farther away he was sweeping. For a radius of about 50 feet, though, it was absolutely spot on. His chemical tracers gave him a vague and directionless airborne organic signature that didn't help much.

Where in the heck could she be?

Oh! "The BREME overnight facilities!" Of course! Hound tromped down the hallways with determination now.

Eventually, he came to the little corridor that was meant for use only by humans, and knelt down at the entrance to get a good look inside.

"Astrid? You in there?"

Another density scan revealed a small, humanoid form someplace far inside. She was sitting... on some kind of foam substrate (a very low-density polyurethane solid) being supported by a metal frame of sorts. If he concentrated very hard, he could see that her hands and fingers were moving. She was using a computer?

Hound wondered if there was some kind of signal he could send her... her phone! If he was lucky, she'd have it on her.

_Time__for__one__more__meeting__,_ he thought up in text format. _I__'__m__waiting__just__outside__._

Sent.

He waited a few seconds, and bingo, her form shifted as her phone notified her of the message. She lifted her hand up with the device, and then set it back down again. Hound thought she would have stood up then and headed for him, but not so. She just sat there for a little while, unmoving, before slumping over and putting her head to the desk surface.

The Jeep knitted his brows in slight confusion and a little worry. Yes, he remembered their little spat, but he was hoping that she'd been able to let off a little steam by now? He supposed that there was something more to her feeling "stupid" than he might have guessed.

Less eager to see her again, he stood back up and simply leaned against the wall beside the small doorway, right back to where he was before his time with the other mechs, when she noiselessly appeared.

"Ready?" he quietly asked.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Let's go."

The two of them made it to Prowl's office exactly 257 seconds after he was expecting them. Not good. Hound knocked on the door, and the thing slid open almost as if it were angry with him too.

Prowl's voice snapped at them from inside like a whip. "You're late."

"I'm sorry, but I-"

"Nevermind that. Come in, you're first."

"First?" The Jeep peeked his head in to see mountains of documents and data pads cluttering up the desk.

"Talking to you separately will give me a better impression of what this is all about. Now step inside, please. I don't have all day."

Hound gave a sidelong glace in Astrid's direction, who just shrugged. He could tell she was incredibly nervous underneath.

"Alright, then..."

The door nearly closed on his heels.

"Sit."

He sat.

"This is going on your report, you know."

"What is?"

"You showing up here inebriated."

"It wasn't my idea, I swear." Hound was impressed at the stupidity of his own logic, and decided that a visit to Prowl while under the influence of high-grade was something to definitely avoid in the future.

"I'd also like to remind you that this conversation is being recorded."

"Get on with your little interrogation already. Primus."

Prowl shot the Jeep an icy glare, his optic lenses narrowing. He knew he wasn't going to spend more time berating him, what with a schedule to keep after all.

"What are your mission orders as you understand them for operation 256-A, also known as Operation Flow."

Ah, it was _that_tone. The one Prowl was famous for. Cold and calculating, with a hint of indifference and suspicion. The mech practically held the trademark on it.

"'To aid in the prevention of Decepticon interference, to provide specialized aid to BREME forces should interference occur, manage all cloaking and anti-visibility operations, and function as primary Autobot-BREME liaison for the duration of the assignment'," he practically recited (and smugly, too). Hound was fluent in military-speak, and other Autobots often forgot that. He didn't particularly like it, but he was capable of going from order-barking hardass to Earth-loving softie at the drop of a hat. Though his other persona, the war-hardened one, was one that most really only saw during pre-Earth battles, ages ago. In truth, the beauty of the planet was enough to make him want to pursue pacifism. In theory, at least.

The military strategist behind the desk looked up from a data pad to stare him down. "Good. And what is the projected timeframe of completion?"

"Unknown. Vein size is either undetermined or Class A information."

"Says here that you will be on loan for the project for 18 months."

"That is an approximate minimum, sir."

There was a pause here; a tense one. Silences with the tactician always made Hound fidget.

"Now tell me about your relationship with Agent Schneider."

Uh oh. "We're just partners for-"

"You've always been a terrible liar, Hound. Especially when it comes to coming up with a story for those of us who are more... attentive than the others. I know about Wheeljack's favor for you, though he wasn't able to tell me much, and I received a memo about it from Prime after you saw him. Now try again."

The Jeep bristled, and ground his dental plates together. "We're currently pursuing an intimate and romantic relationship with one another."

"You do realize that she is an incredible liability, correct?"

The tracker broke the stare and looked down, off to the side. "Correct," he conceded curtly.

"Assuming you both fulfill your duties to the utmost, there is still a reasonable chance that your unorthodox—and quite frankly, _unnatural__—_taste in companions can remain unchallenged by these circumstances."

Hound's systems started to work in over time, and he fought hard the urge to rev himself out of anger.

"In other words," Prowl said, leaning in. "Romantic partnerships don't often survive moonlighting as professional partnerships. Do not underestimate the dangers, do not underestimate her fragility, and do not underestimate her loyalty to her race."

Hound was seething at this point. What upset him most, however, was the fact that he was right.

"Understood, sir."

"Now, then." Prowl set down the pad and let out a burst air from his intakes; almost a bit of a snort. "You are to report directly to me about the progress of the operation every two weeks, following standard communications protocol."

"Can do, sir," muttered the Jeep.

"Excellent. We're done here."

That was it? Naw, there had to be something else. He could feel it. Hound was about to get up, however, when Prowl shot him a look that told him to stay seated. He then did something that Hound had not anticipated: he picked up what the Jeep presumed to be the recording device from amid the piles on the desk, and switched it off. Staring him straight in the optics, Prowl spoke in a lower, somehow more serious tone: "And I want you to report to me everything that the Bureau is doing. You use your tracking skills, which I am well aware of are the best that we've got, and you use your pet girlfriend, and you monitor everything, and I mean _everything_ that BREME is doing up there. Include whatever findings you have in the report, using a K-type encryption. Schneider is not to know of this agenda under any circumstances. Do you understand?"

Hound's over-charged and previously angry state was covert-operation'd out of him; taken the proverbial wind out of his proverbial sails, so to speak. Staring at the black and white Mitsubishi now with grave sobriety, the tracker studied him to make sure this wasn't some joke. At length, he concluded that Prowl was dead serious—he always was; how could Hound have possibly thought otherwise?

With a slow nod, Hound agreed to the new directive. "Understood."

"_Now_ you're dismissed. Send your human in on your way out, please."

–

The Jeep took to pacing about in the hall outside Prowl's office. Astrid had been called in there some 15 minutes prior, and judging by what he had to say to Hound, he was sure she was in for an unpleasant earful.

A number of minutes passed before the door opened and Hound stopped in his tracks to see her come out. Out she came, staring at the ground: a small, quiet thing, trudging out of the meeting with Prowl standing in the doorway: an austere figure looming behind her. Astrid stopped when she stood next to Hound, and with one last look, he disappeared back into his workspace.

"Asshole," she murmured to Hound's leg.

"You want to talk about it?" he tentatively asked as they started walking back toward the elevator.

"Maybe later."

Dammit, that meeting just put her into an even worse mood, didn't it? In all honesty, it didn't make him feel particularly good either, and recalling his new orders made him feel very uneasy. Prowl wouldn't have given him those orders for the sole purpose of sabotaging his relationship, as disgusting as he thought it was. There was always a purpose to everything Prowl did, and if he felt that there was a good reason to be providing inside intelligence on the project like this, then, he hated to admit it, there must be.

Thinking about that wasn't going to help either of them right now, though. Currently, his highest priority was patching things up with his mate. If there was only some way he could help get the two of them back on the same page, get them both out of the base and into an environment she was more comfortable in...

Then an idea happened. "How about you and me blow this joint?"

Astrid looked up at him for the first time in a while. "Huh?"

The elevator car arrived, and they stepped in. Hound knelt down to make for easier discussion. "How about we get out of here for a bit?" he elaborated as the doors closed and they started upward. "We could go into the city for a few hours before you meet up with your family at the hotel, and get some alone time on the road?"

She thought about this for a moment. "And you'd be alright with that?"

"I was going to drive you into town either way," he said with a smile.

He could see her lighten up a little just by the minute changes in her facial expression. "Sure," she said at length. "Sounds like fun."

Yes! He was finally on the right track again!


	3. Nobody's Fault But Mine

The drive, as she guessed it, was much nicer during the day. For her, at least. She wasn't quite sure what things looked like with Hound's night-vision capabilities, or if he could enjoy them in the same way that humans enjoyed the visible spectrum.

It felt good to be out of the base. There was something that she found unsettling about scurrying around the Ark like a rat. Outside, out in the world, she knew the place. The rules of nature were familiar to her; their steadfastness provided comfort. Already her previous tensions were beginning to be lifted, but the ugly feeling that had been building deep in her gut since all this began was still there, weighing her down like a sack of rotting meat.

And now, like the frosting on a shit cake, she was on her way to meet her family to discuss all of this hullabaloo like the adult that she was supposed to be acting like.

Being an adult was overrated.

"Too cold?" Hound's gentle voice filled the cabin like a warm blanket , bringing attention to the fact that Astrid had her arms folded across her chest and shoulders drawn up as though trying to retain body heat. Or in an expression of disgruntlement.

"Nah."

"How about some music. You want the radio on?"

Astrid shook her head. "No thanks. I'm enjoying the quiet."

There was a pause, and the human could just _tell_ that Hound was a little tense. She didn't quite know how... maybe she could feel it in the seat, or something in the sound of his engine tipped her off. Either way, she was right, though. "Are you feeling better?"

She just huffed a bit, lightly holding onto the handle in the ceiling above her head and looked out the window, watching the trees pass by. "I'm sorry... I'm just going through a little bit of a funk, is all. I'm... trying to reconcile a bunch of different things that I've never had to reconcile before."

"It's the assignment, isn't it?"

Astrid sighed and nodded.

"Life is... something of a battleground," Hound imparted. She could tell that he was disappointed in what he was saying.

"Yeah, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"I suppose I would..."

Astrid kicked off her shoes and rested her feet upon the dashboard, hoping he wouldn't mind. "You know, enough about me for a little while. Tell me about you."

"Me? Well... what do you want to know, exactly?"

"Hound, you're how many millions of years old? You were fighting a full-fledged war for I don't know how long up there in the stars. You're a soldier in an _army_. Tell me a little bit about that. I just want to hear something that I haven't heard before, is all. I'm feeling a little like a broken record, and just need to mix things up a bit."

"Hm, alright, then... let's see..."

"Tell me about your enlistment. Everyone's got an enlistment story."

"Oh I was an officer long before the war even started... one of the few—if not only—career soldiers here on this planet, actually. I've always hovered someplace in the middle of the ranks: not too high up, not too low down. I like it that way, and have actually declined promotions because of it."

"Too much pressure to be one of the top brass?"

"There's enough pressure being an Autobot as it is... besides, my skills are better put to use out on the field than in some strategy room. I mean, I can call shots. I've been put in positions where I've had to call them before in missions, but for me its just easier to make those decisions if I'm in the thick of things. There's the physicality and immediacy of it that my CPU just processes better, somehow."

Astrid smiled a little bit, reminded why she liked this guy so much. Was he really that much of an odd mech out among his peers?

"Then you've got bots like Prowl who function much better in calm, sterile environments. And the rest of 'em would much rather stay inside all day anyways. Or at least stick to the paved roads. That's not me."

Astrid's faint smile faded away. Maybe that was her problem? That she secretly preferred to stick to the paved roads despite all of her claims of living for nothing but bush-whacking and trail-chasing. Or maybe...

"Do me a favor, would you?"

"Hm?"

"Pull down the next dirt road you find."

"Why?"

"Let's go on an adventure."

"An adventure..." Something in his voice told her that he wasn't quite sure about this idea.

"You know, for spontaneity's sake."

She heard him smile. "Why the heck not."

A few minutes passed by the time Hound turned on his turn indicator, driving console tick-tocking with every flash of the light. Why he turned it on was beyond her... the nearest car behind them was at least 100 yards away. He made his little right turn, and off into the trees they went on the dirt road.

Hound's suspension system was, quite frankly, out of this world. She could hear the dirt and rocks crunching under those tires of his, but she didn't feel a thing. It was like they were still on asphalt.

They drove a bit, some 10 minutes, when the Jeep came to a gentle stop in the narrow road.

"Mind if I stretch my legs a bit?"

"Be my guest," she replied, stepping out and standing off to the side to watch him transform. It was just one of those things that was guaranteed to bring a smile to her face. He did it slower this time, putting on a little bit a show for her, maybe so that she could try and catch what was coming out of where.

Arms, she noted, appeared out of densely packed bits from somewhere around his engine block, tires shifting around to form something like shoulder blades and heels. Fingers sprouted out from hidden fists, planting down onto the ground to better balance himself as he kicked his legs out behind him, parts still arranging themselves when his feet came back into contact with the ground with a rumble. He wound up on all fours when he was done, looking almost like a runner getting ready to sprint on a track. Turning his head in her direction, he grinned widely and fell back onto his knees, signaling that it was safe to approach now.

The dirt under her feet made little noises as she closed the gap between them.

"Well, come on up," Hound said when she stopped beside him. He jerked his head in the direction of his shoulder nearest her. "I'm not gonna hunch over like this all day."

"Well aren't you bossy," she chuckled and proceeded to climb up the side of his arm. When she'd hoisted herself up a couplet feet from the ground, his other hand came up to give her a little boost, hand cupping her butt as she was pushed up the rest of the way. If she didn't know better, Astrid would have thought it was unintentional. That is, until he finished off her little climb with a playful swat to her posterior. It made a satisfying sound.

"All settled down over there?" he asked, turning his large, armored head to peek at her trying to find a suitable sitting spot.

"Yep."

And with that, the mech started strolling down the dirt road. It felt like she was riding a horse or some other large animal, the way every one of his steps tossed her lightly about.

"What's the matter, I got some spinach stuck in my gears?" She saw his mouth creep up into a grin while a hand rose up to partially rest on her thigh, thumb gently stroking her hip.

"No, I just like you," was all she said before lounging against the side of his head as they steadily made their way westward.

It was a quiet 20 more minutes when Hound turned onto a tiny access road; it was practically a bike trail. They made their way down this for some time, Astrid closing her eyes here and there. The tall pines around them threw splotchy little shadows across her and the Jeep as they went, making his normally bright olive paint job look like a deep hunter green.

Eventually, a great meadow opened up before them—a clearing, she guessed, made by loggers some years before. The midday sun made the place look like it was photoshopped... by god. The grass was tall and green, dotted with little purple flowers. Hound looked down too to enjoy the feeling of the grass brushing up against his ankles.

"Wow," the mech purred, looking about, his eyes resting on her afterward. Both of his hands reached up then and carefully grasped her, bringing her down to hold her against his chest. Astrid was reminded then how good his hugs were. His hulking, green arms wrapped around her, keeping her right there against him. It made her feel both alive and at ease; refreshed and invigorated. It made her feel _cared_for, perhaps most importantly.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him after a little while, and their eyes met. There was nothing but compassion there in that moment, she noted. "I'm sorry about earlier," she murmured up to him, feeling better now for the time being.

"No," he said softly. She felt the voice originate somewhere deep in his chest and travel through her. "_I__'__m_ sorry."

She looked into those glowing, blue eyes, studying the small, finely crafted concentric circles that served as pupils for him. They glowed a bright white, and Astrid was mesmerized by them. She saw the minute changes in them as he focused on one part of her face and then another. _Wow__, __what__a__machine__._

The hands holding her close shifted from under her, so that she was sitting squarely in his right palm, while the fingers of his left traced up her back and rested on her neck, still lightly holding her firm against him. Then the glow of his eyes faded—it was something she'd likened to closing eyelids—and he bent his massive head forward for a kiss.

Astrid wound up doing the same. Her hands grabbed at some architecture of his green helmet, steadying herself so that she could get as much of his mouth as she could. With his left hand he started to push her head into his a bit, tangling his thick digits in her hair, somehow always avoiding getting any golden strands caught. The kiss was fierce, and it seemed to her that Hound was getting something that he was wanting for a while. She entertained the possibility that she had grown distant over the past month, but... it was hard to think when she realized that he was bending over and slowly lowering them to the ground as he hungrily devoured her mouth.

She found herself in the dirt, Hound still cupping—no, squeezing and kneading, now—her ass, holding himself up with his free arm. Astrid came up for air, panting, mind abuzz with distant twinges of pleasure that were sure to come crashing into her soon enough. Hound was panting too. His air circulation systems were starting to pick up the pace, the faint hum of his body electrifying her nerve endings. He looked down at her with those big, glowing eyes, a smile on his face.

Glancing down beyond her feet, she saw the now familiar sight of his erection, long and hard, bobbing here and there with every one of his miniscule movements. She tried to suppress a grin: Astrid was glad that he liked that thing as much as she did.

"I want you to do something for me," she murmured up to him, saying it before really thinking the request through.

"Whatever you want."

This was going to come out awkward. She knew something was going to get lost in translation as it went from her brain to her mouth, but she had to try. "Could you... treat me like a soldier? I..." she paused, looking away in sudden embarrassment, searching for the words. "I want to feel that... that hierarchy."

Hound narrowed his optics at her a little, now a bit confused. "What do you mean?"

"I want to understand this... I want to know what the "other" you feels like. Compromise is your middle name now, but I want to see you be selfish."

"Astrid, if... if you're talking about me as captain, then that's the old me."

"I need to hit the reset button, Hound. If I'm going to get through tonight without breaking down, I need to feel like I've started fresh with something. I need to be pushed... to be wiped clean."

He looked unsure. "Are you talking about... paying _penance_?"

"I don't know," she said, voice dropping. "I just need your help getting me over this by sheer force of will." Astrid looked him in the eye, biting her lip, afraid she was losing him. "You've got a lot of will in you." Her voice was almost a whisper; she was losing steam. "I want to experience it."

He regarded her for a long while, and she knew he was trying to decide if he had it in him to act that way with her. She knew it wasn't gone; Astrid could tell in the way he sometimes got carried away by the tiniest amounts: grabbing her just a little too roughly, bearing down onto her just a little too hard, thrusting just a little too deep. She knew he was a physical mech, that he lived for the visceral. Otherwise, how could he like Earth so much? The lifeblood of the planet was chaos within unquantifiable, unknowable order. Earth was a place where violence begot life, and shorelines could be infinitely long depending on how you measured them; it was a place where Hound could get his hands dirty.

"You want me to be..."

"You."

Astrid saw in his eyes that he was conflicted. Tempted by her offer, but worried about the repercussions of taking it. The weight of an entire culture was falling on him. What did they value, she wondered? Electromagnetic sensuality? Intimacy without contact? She began to suspect that the concept of physicality in Cybertronian society might have been frowned upon. That the fruits of labor were somehow cheapened if they were earned by the sweat of the brow and that the tactile sensations were eschewed for more becoming pleasures. For such a technologically advanced society, the sentiment made sense. Hound, she was beginning to realize, was rare among his peers. There were things that were fundamental to who he was that almost no one else was going to understand... no one else, that is, except for a human.

"But what about-"

"Don't worry about them. If they can't deal with how we were made, then fuck 'em."

Humans understood the language of hands and heat and brute force better than they did sparks and neural bonds.

"I want to experience all that you are right now. Let _go_," she whispered finally, and reached up to pull his face down into a kiss.

Something clicked inside of him then, it seemed.

He kissed her _hard__._ Harder than he'd ever had, pushing her head into the dirt, biting, sucking, and licking viciously. She squeaked in pain when he drew blood on her lip, but the noise was lost in his mouth. One of his hands tangled in her hair, twisting around until her locks fit in his fist. His other was roughly shoved up her shirt, hungrily grabbing at the skin. Through the assault she was distantly aware that he was going to stretch out her shirt if he was going to keep that up, and tried to push him away for a second so she could take it off. All she got out of him was a rev/growl, and continued with his ministrations.

When he was ready, he broke the kiss. Hound looked down at her, face close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. She felt him cradle the side of her head gently, brushing her cheek with his thumb and touching the corner of her lip. Tentatively, Astrid licked at the wide digit. Hound slowly pulled his hand away and placed it on the ground at her side.

She wiggled out of her shirt and jeans piling them up on the ground off to the side, and was on her way toward making quick work of the rest when the giant mech above her stayed her hand.

"Turn over," he said in a low voice. There was a faint predatory glint in his eyes.

She rolled over, not really caring that she was on the ground in the dirt. Peach fuzz on the nape of her neck stood on end when his giant hand ran down her side and settled firmly on one cheek. His other hand took care of the other, slowly palming at the soft skin. It was essentially a butt massage, she realized, but hot damn if it wasn't the best one she'd ever gotten.

Hound squeezed experimentally, tightening his grip in myriad ways around the curvy flesh. A small noise escaped her when he grabbed a bit too hard, but she couldn't suppress the full-on cry when the flat of his giant hand came down on her ass with a loud _SMACK__!_

Under almost any other circumstance, she would have asked him to stop, but for some reason... it didn't feel right to do so now. Something about what he was doing was correct. She licked her lip, tasting the blood from the lightly broken skin. _There__'__s__truth__in__that_, Astrid thought to herself as he brought his hand down on her again, this time massaging the red skin when he was through. The white hot flash of pain disappeared so quickly that she wasn't sure if it had even happened at all, leaving only a warm sensation. She could feel every single tiny scratch on his fingers as they passed over her skin, which had suddenly become hyper-sensitive. Would she be able to take another hit? Astrid wouldn't know until he'd done it again.

She didn't know if he'd wanted to or not, but he didn't. Instead, her panties were impatiently tugged off to make room for his hands on her hips. Hound's grip was solid, and she was sure that he was going to leave marks.

The mech hoisted her up by her hips and midsection, then, and she felt something big and warm poke between her asscheeks, smearing a bit of liquid around the red hot flesh there. Astrid was lost in a haze of... of something. She didn't quite know what to do with her legs as they dangled there in mid-air, but Hound didn't seem to mind her light flailing. In fact, he seemed to like it.

She could tell that he'd sized his toy cock to accommodate her which meant one thing: he wanted to fuck her brains out. Astrid thought earlier to her feeling that he was getting something that he'd been deprived of for a while... perhaps it'd been much, much longer than she'd thought? An urge older than she was?

No time to think as he forcibly flipped her around in his hands like a doll, supporting her entirely with his palm and forearm. His right hand, which was free, seized her by the thigh to expose her to him. And after little exploration, he stuffed a finger inside, slowly curling it upward against that delicious spot behind her pubic bone. Astrid went rigid in his grasp, breath coming out in short bursts intermingled with little moans.

"You like that?" He sounded a little eager, a little unsure of himself despite the lust practically dripping from his glossa. _Like__a__teenager__,_ she thought.

His words threatened to send her over the edge, but just as she could feel herself reaching critical mass, he withdrew the finger and watched her reaction.

Astrid was panting now, with beads of sweat forming between her breasts. The fog in her head made it difficult to say anything. Opening her mouth, she tried, but nothing came out but a whine. It seemed that she'd forgotten how to speak. Not even her hands were of much use. She lay there on him, trembling, lost in the flood of feel-good chemicals and there was no coming out until he dove in and brought her back.

"M-more," she whispered hoarsely. Astrid wanted to drown in it.

The world was pure physical sensation for the next few minutes. Internalizing sensory input took up whatever thought processes that she was left with; sure, but not quite so sure, of Hound's shifting her in his hands so that he held her with her arms pinned at her sides. Distantly she was aware of the feel of his every digit pressing hard into her skin. The uncomfortableness of it was like opium.

He filled her up, taking in more than she could have ever imagined, hulking hip plates smashing against her ass and thighs. Sometimes something inside of her ached when he thrusted, causing her to wince. But it was a good wince.

Astrid felt like her bones were going to break under the stress of the mech, but they wouldn't. The feeling of him inside of her was just too good to be deadly. Besides... somewhere inside of the mush that was her mind, she knew that he was too good for it too. Since when was trust such a powerful aphrodisiac?

The sun was behind the giant robot, making him harder to see. Right now, he was a great, dark form above her, in her. Imposing if she hadn't known better. His body surrounded her small human one... maybe in that moment, she _was_ powerless to stop him. Even if she'd been capable of language, he might not have heard. Or perhaps ignored her.

Her muscles, which had been tight around his thick cock, were tightening up even more now. The light ridges along the top of him felt almost like vibrations as they slid in and out of her, teasing at the whole of her hips, pulling her along like gravity, tumbling down a hillside. Ecstasy greeted her when she hit the bottom.

The orgasm almost hurt, she vaguely noticed. Somewhere in the dust and debris, Hound came as well, like an explosion or a tidal wave, roaring over her with a ferocity that reminded her of what he was. The final thrust was accompanied by a growl, burying himself as deep in her as her fragile anatomy would allow. Viscous heat oozed out of her, and static from somewhere in his anatomy nipped at her skin.

Astrid was struggling to accept reality once again. She shook fiercely in his hands, breathed heavily... all the while smiling. Hound took a few moments to come-to, and when he did, the first thing that he did was dislodge himself and bring her up for a strong embrace. The mech slowly sank to his knees when he did.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and said nothing; it was hard to think when she could still feel the blood in every capillary and count the hairs on the small of her back by manner of proprioception. There was no such thing as "Astrid", yet... she was still comprised of nothing but details. She was still only however many microscopic scratches that Hound had on each palm. That is, until she was made of the edges on his chest that she could count with her skin.

Now _that_ was on an order of divine magnitude. It was what she understood most completely about the world and the planet she lived on. It... it was like walking in a thunderstorm. Like getting caught in a riptide. Like mountain climbing.

Hound kissed her cheek softly.

Did she fall asleep on him? Maybe she did. The rush was gone, and she felt new; like it was tomorrow already. The mech still held her soundly to him. The way his arms were wrapped about her, it was almost as if he were clutching at something that he thought he'd lost.

"You didn't lose anything," she murmured sleepily to him. "I'm right here."

He turned his head, and looked at the ground. "...I don't know if I like who I am," he admitted slowly. The regret in his voice hurt her; and not in a good way.

"What?" She couldn't think of anything else to say.

When Hound didn't reply, the realization of just how disturbed he was by his own actions sank in.

"Humans do this sort of stuff all the time. It's called rough sex. It's not a huge deal, I promise."

"I'm not _human_," he murmured sharply, then paused, gathering his thoughts. "I'm Cybertronian. We have ways of doing things, and I couldn't deviate further from that if I tried."

Astrid cocked her head back. "You're _you_, Hound. You're not any less Cybertronian or any more anything else because of how your head's wired. What does Prowl or Prime or anyone else give a crap about what we do out here? You shouldn't have to prove anything to them." She raised her hand and gestured to the scenery around them. "Just like how _this_ doesn't have to be justified. It just _is_, and it's _wonderful_."

He looked around them, face still sullen. "Sometimes I think I was just born to the wrong species."

Astrid fought the fatigue and grabbed his giant, silver face to get him to look at her again. "What's between your legs?"

"Something that makes me more like Frankenstein than not."

"No," she affirmed. "It's part of who_you__are_, Cybertronian and all. I know you didn't have Wheeljack make it solely for me. You wanted it because you were born with it missing." Astrid stared at him square in his luminous blue eyes.

"_This_ is not who I am!" he burst out, tearing her away from him to hold up one of her arms. The muscles there ached, and a quick glance was all that needed to tell her why: bruises were already forming under the reddened skin. "I don't do this. I've never done this."

"When you're driving on unpaved roads, or kneeling down in the grass to grab a fistful of earth, or when you're lifting rocks off a dying person in a gulch you do it. You do it every time you touch me, even if you're not leaving marks."

"It goes against..."

"No, no it doesn't. You love Earth so much because fucking like animals in the dirt is what this place is all about." She leaned in and gave him a kiss. "I don't want you thinking of yourself as some dirty human-lover, because you're you, first and foremost."

He held her close to him again. The embrace, she knew, was another manifestation of that part of him. What other Autobot needed hugs to feel better when they were down? Very few, if any, she imagined, wrapping her arms around as much of him as she could.

"I'm finding it difficult to feel like myself lately," he softly admitted. "I think this was the final nail in the coffin... pretending to be like any other mech is just going to get harder. It was easy before Earth, you know? Before humans; back when all I knew was metal and electricity. Being a soldier was enough to satisfy that need then. Not anymore, though."

"I know how you feel," Astrid said, stroking his cheek. That's all she felt like saying for now: the time wasn't right to talk about how much of a freak she felt like sometimes and how very far from her element her daily life was getting. Astrid had the feeling that she'd get to touch on some of those things later. So after a small pause, she opted for the lighter route. "That was a lot of fun, by the way."

She saw little traces of a smile creep into the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, it... kind of was."

"I just want you to be able to be yourself with me, okay?"

Hound held her to him while he reclined back against a thick tree, covering her naked body up with his enormous arms.

"Thank you, Astrid," he murmured into her hair.

–

"How are you feeling?" Hound asked when the woman closed the door after climbing up into the cabin of the Jeep. They set back down the dirt path to get back onto the main road.

"Still nervous, but a hell of a lot better than before." She paused, then chuckled a little to herself. "I almost feel like I don't give a shit about what they have to say, now."

"...but you still do."

"Of course I do. They're family. While they don't have control over my life, their opinions _do_ matter."

"Are... are you going to tell them about us?"

"I'm going to have to. I don't know how much I want to tell them, though. They probably wouldn't understand."

"Yeah," grumbled the Jeep.

"As far as the BREME shit... Class E info for them only, right?"

"Right."

"Good. The idea of being able to outsource accountability for what I will and will not tell them sounds really nice these days." She smiled and started rolling down the window. Hound turned off the AC, then. "I can pick and choose whatever I want to tell 'em. And if keeping things secret rubs them the wrong way, tough."

Hound laughed lightly. "That's one way to look at it."

"Are you kidding? That's the life, right there." Astrid couldn't tell if she believed herself or not. Perhaps this was her way of trying to look on the bright side of this situation. This new life. "If I don't feel like telling someone something, I can go 'sorry, that's classified' and move on. No coming up with fancy lies, no guilt, no hard feelings. If it's classified, it ain't personal."

"I've always found the concept of blood ties interesting," the Jeep remarked thoughtfully. "The impression that I get is that it's a kind of relationship that's constantly shifting between unwavering loyalty and maddening frustration."

"For those of us who don't eschew the whole family thing altogether, yeah that's usually the case. It's a dance that few have mastered. How does parenting work on Cybertron?"

"Parent-child units don't really exist... it's what can probably best be described as a mentor and protege relationship, I suppose. Close and personal relationships happen in a far less structured way than here. Parental _figures_, on the other hand, abound, and everyone's usually had at least one at some point. The ones that don't develop... differently."

"What about you? What would yours have said about what we're doing?"

"I saw mine rarely... he was an explorer and scientist, sometimes getting into trouble with other planetary governments for his hijinks and so wound up incarcerated sometimes. And as for what he would have said... I'm not sure. I can't decide if it would have been either "go get 'em, kid!", or "that's pathetic; pull yourself together"."

Astrid knew that feeling inside and out. When she said things like that, it usually meant that she was feeling conflicted and it had little to do with the person in question at all. Hound was going to need lots of time to sort out his thoughts, which was good... she needed time to sort her own. Fortunately, the last hour was making it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to even consider walking away a viable option.

"Remember that time that I told you that everything in the universe is a machine? You and me, plants, animals, planets? Everything?"

"Yeah?"

"He's the one that told me that the last time I saw him. I'd been in the ranks for a while by then, and the tremors of war were just beginning to shake up the edges of civil society. He was going away on an expedition some place. Said "Hound, I want you to remember, when the time comes for you to point a gun at a mech's head, that we're all machines. Every one of us. Planets, galaxies, and guns too." I think he was afraid that I liked being in the military too much."

"Why _did_ you enlist if you hate combat as much as you do?"

She could feel him averting his eyes. "...it was an excuse to use my hands."

–

It was about 4 o'clock by the time the pair rolled into Portland. There were scattered clouds mulling about, but for the most part the sky was clear, and the sun was still pretty high up.

Astrid got a call from her sister about then, letting her know that they'd landed and would be at their hotel in about 45 minutes. And that they were also starving.

"Did you just wanna wander around a little bit while we wait for them? The last time we were here we didn't really have a chance to see much, did we."

"Sounds like a plan. Where are they staying again?"

"There's a Marriot someplace downtown... I figured you could just find it faster than it'd take me to write down the cross streets," Astrid laughed.

"Broadway and Washington," he announced with a wink.

They drove around some, enjoying looking at fancy houses and tall buildings; Astrid pointed out a few stores she wouldn't have minded going into at some point. They explored the hills, investigated the waterfront, discussed the local college scene. Astrid realized that she would no longer be a 20-something girl soon, trying to remember what all the horoscope websites said about turning 30. There was something important about it, but just what escaped her.

Before long, though, it was time to be dropped off. Hound settled out in front in the loading area with his emergency lights on so that Astrid could spot them when they approached. A few minutes later, a silver rental van pulled up and out they stepped.

"Well, here goes nothing," Astrid sighed, pulling on a light sweater to cover herself up. Truthfully, she was still happy to see them, despite her nervousness. She just hated the feeling of having to keep a dirty little secret.

"Head high and shoulders back, missy," Hound said optimistically as she disembarked. "You'll get through the night."

Upon hearing a car door close just behind them, Astrid's brother-in-law, Scott, looked up from where he was helping unload bags onto a luggage cart.

"Well there she is," he announced with a smile. "The woman of the hour!"

"Hey! How's everybody been?" she replied back, going in for hugs. First up was Astrid's mother, Tracy; a short but hardy woman in her late 50's who was raised with horses. "How was the flight?" She heard Hound pull away from the curb and drive off then. She gave him a little wave over Tracy's shoulder, and he gave her a gentle toot with his horn in reply.

"Fast," said her father, Richard. He was just barely taller than his daughters, a man of about 67. He always had a mysterious and regal feel about him, Astrid thought, glancing up to notice that he was wearing his favorite cowboy hat, complete with Navajo-styled hat band. "Only about an hour."

"Who was that?" Asked Carrie, Astrid's older sister. She looked off into the direction that Hound disappeared in. "That was an interesting-looking car..."

"Hm? Oh, him? That was just my ride."

"You didn't invite him to dinner?" Tracy asked.

"Eh, he doesn't really like Indian food. The curry... upsets his stomach."

Scott had finished loading up the cart and was making for the hotel lobby while Richard dealt with the valet.

"Oh my gawd, Astrid... we could have picked a different restaurant for Pete's sake. You can be so callous sometimes."

"He didn't want to _intrude_ either," she said, folding her arms and following Scott inside. "I tried telling him otherwise, but he insisted."

"Well, alright..."

The group checked in, got settled, and freshened up. They chit-chatted some; idle talk about some politics (as Scott loved to do), and Astrid' father described some of his recent adventures, including his starting to experiment with film.

Eventually they all set out on foot to make their 6:30 reservation at_Spice__of__Life_some blocks away.

"So come on, spill the beans," Carrie said as they set down the street. "You've got to seriously prove that it was worth flying up here for us to hear about in person."

"Well, I'm an... analyst now, working for the government."

"So a paper-pusher?" Scott butt in.

"Yeah, a bit," she said, tucking her hands in her jean pockets. "And admittedly, the paperwork and data analysis is a little boring, especially compared to what I was doing before, but I do get all the benefits of being a government employee."

Tracy shook her head. "Especially with the price of insurance these days, my goodness. You're very lucky and I'm very proud of you."

Astrid smiled and thought about how to stall to break the real news to them when they were finally seated. "I've been hired to work on a specific project up there. They're doing a little earth-moving in one of the parks, and it's my job to make sure they don't mess anything up too badly."

"In a state park?" Tracy remarked angrily. "What on earth would they want to do that for?"

Richard, not one to raise his voice, simply shook his head.

"They're digging a sort of hole, basically."

"As if the state isn't covered in enough pipelines already," Carrie scoffed. "You know, I'm not so sure about this new job of yours!"

"No, no, it's not like that. It's not oil, trust me. It's some kind of rare substance that they've detected, and they want to investigate is all. And besides: wouldn't you rather have me as their environmental advisor rather than some hack scientist that's getting paid under the table to look the other way?"

Astrid's brother-in-law's interest was captured. "Rare substance?" As the most straight-laced out of the whole Schneider clan, he was practically obligated to care the most about gizmos and pop science. "Haven't heard anything in the blogosphere about that."

They came upon the restaurant then, and Astrid reached for the door to hold it open for everyone. She gave him something of a condescending look as the heavy odor of Indian food wafted out. "That's because it's classified stuff, dude."

They were seated in a matter of minutes and picked up the conversation right where they left off as soon as they figured out what they were all ordering.

"So classified, huh?" Carrie said, taking a drink of her ice water. "What does that mean?"

"It means she can't talk about it."

"Mom, that's not what she's asking," Astrid chuckled. "I guess it means that I'm working on something important." Really, _really_, important.

And sketchy too.

Interrupted again for a few minutes while they ordered, discussed their choice of food, and remarked at the deliciousness of mango lassis and import beer.

"Okay, so what about this partner of yours that you mentioned?" asked Tracy rather innocently. "You said he was the whole reason this was even an opportunity for you to begin with.'

But Astrid's heart sank at those words. This one crucial thing that she _was_ allowed to divulge also happened to be the one thing that she never wanted to mention. An internal struggle started to break out, but she completely snuffed it, deciding instead to speak without thinking, otherwise she'd have fallen silent for the remainder of the evening.

"I work..." she began, swallowing hard. "With an autobot."

The table was dumbstruck for a few seconds. Of course Scott was the first to pipe up. "What? No way!"

"Shh! I don't want the whole damn restaurant to know!"

He lowered his voice. "You have got to be kidding me," he said, leaning in. "How did _you_ get in cahoots with _them__?_"

"Must mean you've known about this for quite some time, hm?" Astrid was almost startled by her father's voice. "How long has this been going on exactly?"

The youngest Schneider looked down at the table, fixing the silverware. She suddenly felt compelled to line them up perfectly. "I met him through the search and rescue unit from the accident, and we kept in contact is all."

Scott cocked an eyebrow. "_Him__? _They have genders now?"

She shot him a look. "It's the pronoun he chooses to use."

"That's very forward-thinking of them, to build robots that get to make choices like that."

"He's autonomous, mom," she sighed. "He gets to make _all_ of his own decisions."

"See, I never understood that," Scott said, pointing a fork at her. "From what I know, we don't have the technology available to create AI that complex. Then again, those things were created under some black ops project, so who knows what tech we actually have."

"He's not a thing," chided Astrid, rolling her eyes in building frustration. "He can think for himself, he has a personality, he has goals and aspirations, hobbies, and he's a very dear friend of mine. As for tech, I know just as much as any of you."

"You didn't say anything about the two of you being buddy-buddy," Carrie noted.

"Well, we are. I don't know anyone else up there yet, so we wind up spending a lot of time together, is all."

"Outside of work?"

"Technically, they haven't even gotten surveyors to the site yet, let alone broken ground, so work won't be starting for another week or so."

"So 'yes', outside of work."

Astrid eyed Scott. She'd about had it with him. "And you've got a problem with that?"

Carrie's husband threw up his hands in mock surrender. "I just think it's odd that you're spending so much time with something that amounts to little more than a fancy computer with a funny-looking face. If you want to know what I think-" She didn't. "-those things scare me. It's like having robotized CIA agents running around the country in tanks. What would happen should one of them go berserk or decide to stop following orders from us? I don't even want to know. Seeing that crappy Will Smith movie was enough for me."

"Autobots aren't anything like those CGI horrors," she said, shaking her head. Astrid took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. How could she expect them to understand their relationship if they couldn't even get over the fact that Hound was just like any other human person out there? They seemed unable to even accept the fact that he was self-aware. "Or like terminators, or like Matrix machines, or what have you. They're different. They're-"

"Bigger?" This time it was Carrie. "They turn into cars and things so we don't know where they are? They're weapons, Astrid. They were made to be weapons of war, and weapons of intelligence. I think the sooner you accept that and make some real friends up there, the better off you'll be."

Richard reached across the table to touch his daughter's hand. "We know how much that accident hurt you, darling. We've all been there to support you through your recovery... but this isn't the way, Astrid. Autobots aren't people. They're machines, sweetheart. You can't be friends with a machine."

She was grinding her teeth together with her lips drawn into a tight line. Tracy leaned in. "We just want to make sure that you stay safe, is all."

"I'm safe with him."

"How do you know that? You're working with a military experiment, looking for some top secret stuff out in the snow. I know you've always denied it, but... you're a pretty serious thrill-seeker, Astrid. I think you need to step back and really think about what you've gotten yourself into."

Her? A _thrill__-__seeker__? _She was nothing of the sort! None of this fast cars, loud music, and dangerous sports stuff for her.

Dangerous sports.

...no. No way. Scott couldn't be right about this. She wouldn't let him _be_ right about this. Astrid slowly reached up to touch the bruises on her arms under the long sleeved shirt, wincing a little at their ache, and thought back to what in the hell was going through her head back in spring when she decided to go on the hike despite all the signs of potential danger. Why she didn't bring someone with her, which was practically mandatory for a trip like that. Why she didn't think twice and turn back at the small little piles of dirt and gravel at the bottom of the hillside along the trail. Truthfully, Astrid didn't utilize the buddy system because her partner would have urged them to turn back like a sane person, and she couldn't allow that. Not when she had something to prove and something to experience.

"You okay?" Tracy said, bringing her daughter out of her brooding reverie. Food was being served. "Did you hurt your arm?"

"No, I... I just fell off my bike earlier."

"Ouch! That must've hurt."

"Not really. It reminded me that I was going in the right direction."

"That where you got your split lip, too?"

"Lips were chapped," she muttered.

Astrid rolled up her sleeves to eat and reaching for her fork when her mother gasped. "That must have been a nasty fall!"

She looked down and saw a few faint bruises on her forearms as well. Wow... Hound really did a number on her. Of course, as with any bruise, it looked far worse than it really was.

"You got both of your arms all the way up to the shoulder, my goodness..."

Astrid noticed that Carrie looked on quietly, a glint of something in her eye.

Scott, however, was busy stuffing his face. "You're quite the glutton for punishment, aren't ya?"

"This is what happens when you live an active lifestyle," she mumbled, looking down at her plate, figuring out the best place to start. She eyed him and mumbled under her breath. "Instead of sitting in front of a computer in a comfy chair all day..."

"You mentioned something about new living arrangements too," Carrie said. Astrid detected a hint of tenseness in her voice.

Right, that.

"Uh, well, see... the agency that I work for decided it would be best if... if the Autobot and I shared a living space."

"What."

"We're... sort of living together. In a warehouse. It's also where we'll be working."

"You know, I'd say that's a little more than the "spending time" together that you said earlier. This is a 24/7 arrangement, huh?" Scott asked, then chuckled. "What's that like?"

"What do you two _do_there?"

Astrid sucked in a breath and took a bite of food. "...that's classified."

–

The line worked better than she could have anticipated. It shut them down immediately, and even though she could tell that they were taken aback by the comment, they didn't pursue the discussion further.

She decided to walk them all to a nearby jazz club for some drinks after dinner; the idea of not being able to carry on a discussion due to live music sounded like an excellent idea to her, as she was already emotionally exhausted from that barrage of questions at the restaurant. In fact, it made her a little sick to her stomach that they'd reacted the way they had, but she couldn't really imagine getting a different reaction. If someone had told her not a year before that they were living with a giant robot and best friends with them—forget about being intimate with them—she would have reacted similarly, she admitted to herself.

During the hour-long set, Astrid had recalled a moment when she was roughly 12 or 13, when her parents took her aside and told her that she was allowed to fall in love with anyone that she wanted; that she could have a prince or a princess of her own, and that they would still love her as their daughter. Being a tomboy, she understood that her interests were a little more difficult to gauge, what with her hanging out with boys all the time but not ever having expressed personal interest in one.

Astrid didn't turn out to be gay, but as the years wore on, she never stopped being grateful for their acceptance and open-mindedness. But now, it seemed to her, that it was never meant to include Hound. How could it have? It was inconceivable to them. Autobots didn't even exist as far as the world of humans was concerned until the 90's. The option of an inter-species relationship that didn't include bestiality wasn't even on the ballot. Earth was a world where machines were as self-aware as bacteria, and public acknowledgment of sentient machines, capable of the full spectrum of emotions, would be a long time coming.

To make things more interesting, she thought as the set continued on, it seemed that Hound was... transgendered, almost. Or something like it. His problem was that he seemed to be a masculine soul in an agendered body. He wasn't born into a society that even had solid ideas of what gender _was_; not like Earthlings, at least. To them, she surmised, it was of little concern. She was sure that it did far more good than a strict binary system did. However, there still seemed to be no room for her mech therein. Not only did he strongly gravitate toward a single identity, but he was seeking to express it in all the "wrong" ways.

Somehow, the two misfits had found each other... but was it worth it for them? Before, it had been little more than a shared fantasy, a secret affair that they could retreat from reality into. But reality was catching up, and now real consequences beyond simple melodrama were part of their relationship. Astrid's health and well-being versus them. Why in the world did they seem so mutually exclusive these days? Goddamn BREME.

Either no one took notice of her thoughtful quietude during the rest of the evening, or they were hesitant to speak much to her now. Didn't matter to Astrid: the less judgment she would have to endure before the night was out, the better. She supposed that she'd started touching her upper arms at some point during her musings, feeling the dull ache that went along with lightly prodding at the damaged tissue. She got lost in reliving how they came to be in time with the music.

Someone reached out to pull her hand away from herself, though. Astrid started, and turned to see Carrie giving her a hard look. "Stop it," she mouthed before pursing her lips together in a tight line and looking away.

–

It was about 10 when the second band came out that they decided to leave. Astrid pulled out her phone to let the Jeep know that she was ready for pick-up. She looked up from her phone as the text went out, expecting someone to say something as she practically glowered at them all.

"No more jabs?" she said, breaking the silence. "I'm leaving in a few minutes, just in case anyone wanted one last crack at me."

"You know, I never knew you to be petty and selfish," Carrie replied, arms folded. "You've changed since your accident, Astrid. And not for the better. You need some serious help; you really do."

_What__?_ Astrid's blood boiled and her heart stung. No way were those words coming out of her sister's mouth.

"Carrie, stop," their mother hissed. "We just don't think doing work like this is going to help you," she lamented. "Not while you're still vulnerable and up there all by yourself."

"If there is anything your mother and I can do for you," Richard said, holding onto his daughter's arms. "Please tell us. We want you happy and safe."

"I know you guys are worried about me," Astrid said quietly, hugging both her parents. "But you need to trust my judgment. I'm not as compromised as you all seem to think I am. I'll keep in touch, alright?"

It was then that the Jeep pulled up beside them, and Astrid made to leave.

"I love you guys," she said. "Maybe I'll come down for Christmas?"

"We won't see you for breakfast?" Richard asked.

"They put me in a hotel way far out in the boonies. Took us 45 minutes to get out here."

"Well, can you make it for lunch?"

"I'll see if I'm in the mood tomorrow."

"Sounds good, honey," Tracy sighed. "And we love you too."

With that she slid into the passenger seat, and off they went. Astrid was silent, and put her face in her hands.

"W-what's the matter?" Hound asked, slowing down. "Did you want me to pull over?"

"No," she whispered, knowing that if she spoke with a lump in her throat, her voice would sound funny. "Just keep going."


	4. White Room

As soon as she'd gotten into the car, Hound knew something was wrong despite her optimistic parting words. He had his holo driver give a little bit of a wave to the group as he pulled away, but as soon as he did, his focus was turned to her.

Astrid was tense, the day's earlier events apparently forgotten. He almost didn't want to ask what had happened, but he knew better.

"...is everything alright?"

"They think I'm clinically nuts." Her voice was flat and edged with burgeoning bitterness.

"What! Why?"

She gestured at the whole of his vehicle interior with a slight nod of her head. "You," she said quietly.

Oh. Right, that. Being around Astrid and in-the-know kinds of folk made it easy for him to forget. How was it that his and her worlds could take such different stances? Hers hostile while his indifferent? Then again, it wasn't even a matter of believing in the existence of humans. They were the default, and his kind was the other.

"I'm sorry," was all he could come up with.

"They think this whole thing is a bad idea. You, Alaska, BREME..."

"Can you blame them? They've never seen any of us with their own eyes, the government has lied to them about us for the past 25 years, and we're generally regarded by the public at large as something worthy of suspicion." Hound was trying for the logical route, as much as he wanted to hug and coddle her. He just had a hunch that this approach would be better in this instance. "Just give them time."

She just nodded and chewed at her lip a little.

"I have an idea!"

"Hm?"

"How about the two of us take some pictures together when we get back home and send them to your family? People have a hard time saying no to a smiling face."

"Well..."

"_Not_in a "look at us, we're in a relationship" sort of way, but just the two of us, out doing our jobs sort of thing. Surely they'll have a hard time remaining contentious once they see how... swell of a guy I am?"

In light of the events earlier that day, he said that with an acute sense of self-loathing, though he didn't mean for her to hear.

...

Oh, how he'd hoped that she didn't hear.

In truth, Hound had spent much of the evening parked at some trailhead just out of town, trying to sort his feelings and just being generally overcome with anxiety over... just about everything. Sexuality, Alaska, day to day affairs, bruises, secrets, family politics, the meaning of life... Up until then he'd done a fine job of being able to focus on one problem at a time, but suddenly it was something of a flood of problems, and the mech had found that he was still no better at multi-tasking than he was before.

In the past, the Jeep had always relied on his useful ability to shift all of his focus on Astrid's problems and completely ignore his own to be sorted out at a more convenient time, but as their issues were becoming more and more the same, and more and more relevant to the well-being of the other, it was hard to keep everything compartmentalized.

Now when he paid attention to her problems, he was paying attention to his problems as well.

He remembered swivelling his tires around in the gravel a bit as he sat there, feeling the little stones around the claw-like treads, thinking about what his human had said.

_Not__even__my__tires__are__smooth__,_ he thought to himself. _Huh__._

Rock _crawling_.

_Gripping_the road.

He knew other Autobots used the same language to describe the act of driving, of traveling in their natural vehicle modes, but he started to wonder just how much of it was that visceral of a feeling to them, if it was _that_fulfilling. How many humans out there needed to ride horseback every day in order to feel whole deep down in their spark... er, soul? Or, as with his apparent rarity, stand on their head and sing The Marriage of Figaro to a three-legged dog?

Pressing her into the dirt had felt so good, though. So... correct, he decided.

"I think you're onto something."

"I'm glad. Nothing would hurt me more than your family giving you a hard time about this. They're there to support you, not challenge you. Time," he reaffirmed like a mantra. "Just give them time..."

Astrid fell asleep at some point during the drive back to AHQ, leaving Hound to entertain his own daydreams alone out on the road.

Hound wanted to brush her cheek with his sensor net, examine the marks he'd made with remote detectors buried deep inside of him, but who was there but Prowl. Stern-faced and scowling, as he looked over Hound's profile for the first time some ten thousand Terran years ago.

"You prefer _melee_combat? What do you think this is, the pits?" Prowl said with a bit of disgust.

"You... skipped over the part where it says I don't actually like combat, but if I _had_to chose a preferred method of engagement, it would be melee?"

"Look, I know you've been in the service for a while, but this is war-"

Hound interrupted him. "Exactly. Which is why you shouldn't be getting picky about-"

"..._which__means_ that the reputation of the Autobots is going to be scrutinized even more now than during peacetime. We can't go do things like Decepticon thugs, Hound. We're the good guys, which means we take the high road. The _clean_road."

Hound threw his arms up. "_The__clean__road__? _What about some of the others that do things my way? _Worse_than my way? Mechs like... like Blades? Cliffjumper? You give them this speech too?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Prowl stated firmly. "The difference between you and them is that you hold something of a position of authority while they do not."

"You're acting as though throwing a punch is worse for our image and morale than drinking myself into stasis lock on the job."

"Both of them stem from the same aberrant behaviors, and both are equally deplorable. You are never going to be promoted beyond your current rank with something like this tarnishing your profile. Fisticuffs and brawling is for thugs and organics, and have no place in the Autobot army."

He said army, but meant something else, Hound knew.

That seemed like ages ago now, though. Feeling his fare shift around to get more comfortable in the front passenger seat, his attention on her for a moment, he realized that for her, it was an unfathomable length of time. And judging by the frequency of her brainwaves, time itself was unfathomable right now. Apparently it was for him too, as he found himself driving up the road to the Ark before he realized that he did so.

"So how'd it go?" Beachcomber was standing there with Trailbreaker on the gravel, having some quiet time outside the base when Hound drove up.

"She asleep already?" remarked the big black mech, stooping to get a look inside the Jeep's cab.

"It was a long day for the both of us," Hound sighed.

Astrid stirred inside, groaning and stretching some. "Back already?" she mumbled groggily. She was sluggishly fumbling for the door, but Hound opened it for her to allow her to step out.

"Evening, Astrid!" said Trailbreaker with good cheer as Hound transformed. "You got any other plans for tonight?"

"Straight to bed, I think," she replied with a yawn. "Like Hound said: long freakin' day."

"I'll walk her inside, and then I'll come back out for a little bit," Hound said, and then looked down at the human beside his leg. He lowered his voice some. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Nah, I'm going to be out like a light," she mumbled.

The Jeep realized a little too late that for the untrained audio receptor, namely Trailbreaker's, the exchange was suspect. Hound almost didn't care, though.

..._almost__._

He looked up again, putting on a smile and curtly nodding his head. "I'll be back in a breem or two."

Hound thought he felt Trailbreaker's optics following them as they walked past and into the base, but decided to think nothing of it. In no time at all, the two of them made it back to Hound's quarters without anyone seeing (though he was sure Red Alert had caught them coming and going from the room via security camera, blustering to Prime about it, and promptly being told it wasn't of any real consequence).

"Where's the bed?" came a voice from beneath him. He looked down to see Astrid glancing about, trying to find where he'd put the mattress and bedding.

"I subspaced it when someone came in this morning. You go get ready for sleep, I'll worry about putting your bed back together," he said softly, walking over to the mech-sized berth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Astrid pluck up her duffel bag and walk out to use the human facilities.

Rifling through the data in the storage system, he located the bed and set it to materialize on his own. Poof! There it was, the white rectangular cushion (soft, but not too soft), dressed up in some 500 thread-count cotton sheets. While they weren't her prized 1000-count set, he still made sure to be careful with them.

Hound looked down at the bedding, sitting down beside it, with something almost like a distant remorse. He grasped one of the sheets, studying it with the sensor arrays located along his fingers, feeling every minuscule fiber. It was soft and cool; delicate to him. This thing right next to him was the traditional place for human sexual encounters. Why was that? He supposed because it was soft, and humans found it comforting to be surrounded by fabric and cushioning when they were naked. How was it that a place built for sleeping became the venue for such activity? He understood the concept, but didn't quite grasp it. Hound wondered what it would be like to have the opportunity to get busy with her in a bed. He scrunched up the fabric in his hand, feeling it bunch up into a clump of elegant fluff. He wondered what it would feel like to be surrounded by that. It smelled like her...

Wait, _smelled__?_

Hound unconsciously twisted up his face and stared down at the sheet. Did he really just use his olfactory system that way? The sense, as he understood it, was a primal survival mechanism: useful for detecting potentially hazardous gasses in the immediate area. Not serve a social and sexual function, as it did with organics. A civilized Cybertronian deriving pleasure from a smell was quite unheard of.

Hound set down the fabric and looked at his fingers as he intertwined them in his lap. Astrid came in a few minutes later, bag in hand and wearing her pajamas now. He looked up and smiled at her.

"Need a lift?" he asked, feigning a bright disposition.

"Yes please," she said, setting down her bag and walking over to the side of the berth. He bent down and presented his hand, palm upward, for her to sit on. She did, and he lifted her up to the mattress.

She plopped down dramatically onto the covers, making a soft 'fwup' sort of sound. Hound smiled on the inside at her mannerisms. Astrid let out a voiceless groan, hard and breathy, and winced a little. Over the past month or so he'd learned that the action meant that her back hurt; vertebrae decompressing after a long day of sitting.

He was able to get a better look at the bruises on her arms now. Hound was desperately relieved that they were still, for the most part, red and pink, and very little, if at all, of any deeper color. They'd be gone in a week.

Question was, would they be replaced?

"They saw them," Astrid said quietly. She must've noticed him staring in pensive silence. "There's a couple on my hips too"

Hound drew his mouth into a tight line for a moment, still gazing down at her laying beside him. "What did you tell them?"

"Said it was a bike accident, they seemed to buy it."

The Jeep nodded, turning away to look at the far wall, but returned his eyes to her when he felt her small hand rest on his.

"I meant what I said earlier," she said, looking him dead in the optics.

"About what?"

"About you."

–

The kiss was still on his lips when he made his way back outside.

"What'd you do, read her a bedtime story too? Criminey," Trailbreaker said from where he sat on a great rock. "Told Beachcomber that if you didn't come back here soon, then I'd have to drink this for you." He took a cube of energon out of subspace and tossed it to Hound. "Ain't nothin' sadder'n a cold cube."

"You've been off the field too long," said the green mech, poking in the corner of the cube with his finger and taking a swig. "You take the energon you can get."

_Buh__-__bah__... __wait__for__it_, came the unexpected private communication from Beachcomber, who turned to him to give him a look.

_Wait__for__what__?_

"So where'd you and the broad run off to all day?" asked Trailbreaker.

_That_.

"I took Astrid into town to go meet with her folks. Portland's closer to California than Anchorage, so they took the opportunity to hang out for the evening. I think she was giving them a bit of a run-down on what the job entails, too."

_How__'__d__that__go__down__, __man__? __They__cool__or__what__?_

"Oh, so you got to meet her folks, huh?" the black mech jabbed. "So what'd she tell 'em?"

"They're... distraught over her working with such "dangerous folk" as us."

"Understandable, really. Few of 'em really know what we're about, and even fewer trust us."

_Not__good__. __Impression__I__get__is__that__they__'__re__only__a__few__steps__away__from__a__full__-__blown__intervention__. _

_That__'__s__bull__, __yo__. __Sorry__to__hear__that__._

_Both__of__us__are__on__Prowl__'__s__slag__-__list__too__, __now__._

_Rust__on__the__wounds__, __that__is__. __You__cats__groovy__, __though__?_

_Yeah__, __we__seem__to__be__okay__. __Had__something__of__a__breakthrough__this__morning__, __but__it__'__ll__take__us__a__little__bit__to__sort__out__our__feelings__on__it__, __I__think__._

"Hound!"

The Jeep was startled out of his private conversation. "Hm? Yeah, sorry, was just... daydreaming there for a minute."

"Really, because it looked like you two were talkin' behind my back there."

"Hey, c'mon, man. I just asked him a question was all, you know?" Beachcomber piped in, holding up his hands.

Trailbreaker just eyed them both and finished off his cube. "You've been actin' funny this whole time, Hound. You sure everything alright with you?"

"No, no, it's fine."

"Are you sure? You've always been a pretty awful liar, you know, so..."

"I said I'm fine, Trailbreaker."

"Look, dude, I know when a mech's hiding something, and it looks like you've got a whole subspace fulla skeletons, there. C'mon, tell us what's really going on?"

"It's none of your _damned__business__!_" the Jeep snapped like a cornered animal, shooting his fellow a glare. "Now if you two excuse me, recharge is sounding really good right about now. Goodnight."

–

Trailbreaker watched as Hound stormed inside, mouth slightly agape.

"You saw that," he said to the blue mech. "I was just trying to help, right?"

"Poor cat's got a lot in his noggin these days."

There was a pause.

"Are the two of them... sharing a room?"

Beachcomber shook his head and looked away. "Ain't my place to guh-guess, daddy-o."

–

Chronometer read about 5:54am when he roused himself from recharge.

Hound had Astrid, on the mattress, with her back to him, spooning somewhat. His arm was carefully draped over her body, and his other was beneath his head. Something in him dared not move, and so he looked up at the small, frosted skylight with only a flick of his optics. The sun was just coming up, he surmised.

Their official Autobot business over, they were to leave later today, he remembered. Quite frankly, he was looking forward to leaving. Not that he was an anti-social mech, but he was just exhausted emotionally, and, sheepishly remembering his outburst the night before, a little compromised as well.

He looked down to the human under his arm: his _girlfriend_.

Cybertronians didn't have a translation for the word. In fact, a suitable replacement in his native language didn't even exist. The culture just had no need for one, when it came right down to it. There were distant synonyms, but they were just that: distant. Words entailing intimacy of the spark, or frequent energy sharing between individuals, but nothing that implied physicality, let alone "he's" and "she's". There was no room in the social order for different sorts of connections that shared different sorts of energy... say, kinetic rather than electrical.

His girlfriend stirred, prompting him to touch her. He ran a finger across her shoulder and down her arm; then back up and down her spine, slowly. Hound liked the way her skin yielded so completely to the touch; it was no mystery which one of them would give out first. Curiosity getting the better of him, he focused on the hem of her soft night shorts and tugged the hip of one down a couple inches to see the marks made there. He wasn't sure why he wanted to see them. But there they were, light little pink patches.

"Appraising your handiwork?" came her groggy voice.

Hound looked for another moment, furrowing his brow ridges, before turning over on the berth and winding up on his back beside Astrid's bed. "I still don't know how I feel about it," he announced with a mechanical sigh.

"Well, take all the time you need to figure it out. Just know that I'm here for you to talk to, and I want you to be able to feel comfortable in your own skin... especially with me."

"You mean chassis?" He replied, feeling a smile creep into his features as he looked over at her.

She poked at his arm. "Whatever this awesome stuff is."

Hound rolled back over and came in for a morning kiss: long and lazy, finished off with a gentle nibble on her lip. "So I was trying to come up with some things for us to do today before we leave..."

"Something with not too many others, please?" she asked, scrunching up her face.

The Jeep nodded. " I was thinking the same thing... hoping to make up for yesterday, really. I think we both deserve it."

"I think so. What did you have in mind?"

Truth is, he hadn't given the idea much thought, so now a bunch of different things were running through his head. Did they have anything else that needed to be taken care of before leaving? What could she AND Autobots do together, save for watching TV or going for a walk? What was something that they could _only_do at AHQ? Fortunately, an idea came to him pretty quickly.

"Well, I thought that maybe it would be a good idea for you to learn how to use a gun."

She looked taken aback, almost. "A... a gun?"

"You know, considering what we're going to be doing? It might be handy to have a means of self-defense..."

"I-I guess..." Astrid looked down and considered this, Hound carefully reading her expression. "I've never so much as touched one in my life, and the only time I've seen them in person is when they're on a cop." She paused. "I'll uhm, I'll give it a try, though."

–

About an hour later they found themselves alone in the shooting range in one of the basements, and in Astrid's hand, an M9. She looked very small right then; as though the pistol weighed as much as he did. Hound began to wonder if this was such a good idea after all, but decided to continue anyways.

"Okay, that's a Beretta 92FS, which is a sidearm commonly used by the US military, navy, and so forth." He pulled up a holographic diagram of the firearm so that he could better show her how to use it. "It's a 9mm semi-automatic pistol with a magazine capacity of 15 rounds. You follow?"

Astrid's heart rate had spiked since she retrieved the weapon from a munitions room off to the side, and Hound told her how to take it out of its case. She was carefully examining every last detail of his hologram, lips pursed nervously, and eyes darting minutely from one part to another. He decided then that she might learn better from example?

"Let's try this..." Hound dissolved the graphic, and instead reproduced himself a holographic replica of the gun, scaled to fit his hand. It was of course massless, made from the most basic of visual projection styles at his disposal: diagrammatic, mostly contour and outline indicators, with a slightly transparent field to mark the surfaces. Something like a three-dimensional, luminescent orange x-ray that he could manipulate in tandem with his own movements to make it look like it was a solid object. "There are 4 main rules to handling a firearm," he continued. She nodded in response. "One, _always_ assume that a gun is loaded. Is yours?"

Astrid slowly lifted the thing up a little more, turning it around, and being very, very careful not to point it at herself. After a minute, she discovered that there was no magazine, and that it was still in the case. "No."

"Are you sure? Open the action and lock the slide like this..." He did so on his model here: "...and make sure that the chamber is empty."

She did so and found her chamber empty too.

"Okay, good. Second rule is to always keep it pointed in a safe direction. Meaning, don't aim it at anything you aren't willing to shoot. Third, keep your finger off the trigger and out of the trigger guard. Hold it like this." He held the comically huge holographic M9 in his hand, with three fingers plus thumb firmly holding the grip, and index digit straight, resting against the side of the trigger guard. Hound watched as she carefully mimicked him. Once she had, he continued. "And last rule is keep it unloaded until you're ready to use it."

"That's... not too hard?"

"Not at all," he said, putting on a smile. "Now it's time to load it. Is the safety on?"

"How do I tell?"

"If you see a little red dot exposed on the side there. No, it is. That little switch thing there is pointed downward, covering up the mark, so it is. Good. Now go get your magazine."

Astrid turned back to the padded gun case on a table beside her, and pulled out what she correctly knew to be the magazine, which had been pre-loaded with ammunition. _Probably__to__break__in__the__spring__,_ Hound thought. Gun safety was a little more lax around AHQ; not only was its resident crew mostly impervious to sidearm shots, but just about everyone who walked onto the premises had extensive knowledge of handling firearms by necessity of their job. Astrid was clearly a glaring exception, which, he admitted, was something he was glad for.

"Alright now lock the slide again," he instructed, demonstrating. He held up his hand now, and a holographic magazine appeared in his fingers. "And take your magazine, and just slide it up in there. No, no, wrong way. Flat side against the back. There you go. Okay, so when you release the side, it's going to put a round into the chamber. How are you feeling?"

"I-I'm feeling okay..."

"We can stop at any point, if you want."

She just nodded resolutely. "I think I can do this."

"Okay. Now, you're going to want to put on your eye and ear protection."

Astrid set down the gun, and proceeded to put on her safety glasses and bright yellow noise-canceling muffs. Hound gave her a thumbs up, before dissolving the hologram and ushering her over to the human-scaled firing range, crouching down behind her.

"Release the slide again," he instructed, a little louder than normal, pointing to the release. Astrid jumped a little at the mechanism. "Now turn off the safety. Push that little switch upward."

Gun was locked, loaded, and ready to fire.

"Target is 10 yards away. Don't worry if you miss."

Hound watched her very carefully as she lifted the pistol with both hands taking a shaky aim at the white, human-shaped target. He sensed her heart racing, but her surface temperature was cold, and she was trying to slow her breaths to little avail. He would have laid a hand on her shoulder, but it was not the time for sudden physical contact.

She stood there for a long time, and he was beginning to realize just how daunting of a task this was for her. But after a few minutes ticked by, Astrid let out a particularly long exhale, and pulled the trigger.

_BLAM__._

Either she was greatly startled, or the recoil was more than what she was expecting, or likelier yet it a combination of both, but Astrid practically jumped out of her skin upon firing. She was taking in air with short, quick breaths, and shaking rather uncontrollably as she tried to see where her shot landed. After a moment, she gave up and set the gun down, safety back on, and leaned against the wall, facing Hound. Her eyes stared at the ground.

"I-I can't do this," she whispered, shaking her head. "I just can't."

Astrid gave out a sigh and rested her face in her hand, still staring at Hound's feet. This was a good time for physical contact. He reached out to grasp her free hand, which was crossed over her belly and gripping at the opposite hip, taking it into his own battle-worn fingers.

"You don't have to do this now," he offered quietly. "I just though it would be a good thing for you to know..."

"It's what Prowl said," she mumbled.

Hound perked up at the first of her mentioning what had transpired between the two of them behind that door. His face, though, as he imagined it, was one of hardened suspicion at the very mention of the black and white mech. "What did he say?"

"Told me I wasn't fit for any of this. That I was a liability that would inevitably bring down your reputation and make Optimus Prime look bad." Astrid swallowed hard, and looked up at him, their optics meeting. "Said if it were up to him, he'd send me home and bar us from seeing each other ever again."

Hound was hurt and angry again. "That was totally and completely out of line," he said in a low voice. "What a fragger..."

"I don't think he was that off base."

Hound's face twisted up in confusion. How could she say something like that? Did she honestly _believe_ that tripe? "What?"

"I'm a civilian; a _human_ civilian, Hound. I can crunch numbers and measure data, but I'd be useless in a high-risk situation... I'd falter at the first gunshot."

"Nobody's asking you to fight if it even comes to that," the Jeep reassured, holding both of her tiny hands now in his. "I just want you to be able to defend yourself if I'm not there to protect you. Nevermind what Prowl said."

Astrid just nodded stiffly.

"Would you mind if I practiced a little? You don't have to watch if you don't want; there's a small break room over there."

"I think I'd like to watch you."

"Okay."

He gave her a kiss on the crown of her head and rose up, unsubspacing his own rifle. It was a pale aluminum white, shining like a polished silver in the fluorescent lighting of the gallery. In truth he rarely used it, just as Prowl had reminded him so coarsely all those millennia ago, and it's data was shoved all the way at the bottom of his list of things that were stored. Some 8 feet long it was, and electromagnetically powered: a distant and technologically advanced cousin of the railgun. Astrid probably couldn't see as much, but he was acutely aware of every scuff, scratch, and dent in its surface, remembering how each and every one got there. The marring told stories about old battles; all the pistol-whippings, clubbings, and narrow escapes that the elegant and awful thing allotted him. It'd saved his life countless times, he wouldn't deny that. But at times, when he was at his lowest and darkest, it seemed to do it out of mockery. It would let him live only under the condition that he made sure to risk his life in the same manner the next day. He longed for the day that he could be rid of it forever.

"Violence is a tool," Prime had said in a speech once. "A powerful tool, and so should be used as sparingly as possible. Letting the tool control you is how tragedies happen."

Hound gave the weapon a once-over, making sure that it was in top working order and that nothing was amiss. He gave a quick flick to a small switch just above the grip, and out the back popped an energy plug, which had been sitting dead in the gun for some time now. He pulled it out the rest of the way and set it aside, taking a fresh one out of subspace and replacing it with a _ker__-__click_. The rifle hummed to life.

The Autobot's side of the gallery was, obviously, some times larger than the humans'. He set his target back to the 50-yard mark, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Astrid had her muffs back on, and then took aim.

_SHPOW__SHPOW__SHPOW__SHPOW_

It wasn't quite as loud as a ballistic weapon (a few decibels softer than Astrid's M9, in fact), but it hit you in a different way: definitely felt more than heard. It was a complaint that many had when working side-by-side with Autobots, actually; that heavy use of their electrical weaponry caused symptoms of physical illness. Mild disorientation, nausea, light-headedness, sometimes even paranoia. There was just something about the frequency that human bodies didn't like.

Fortunately, Hound hated his rifle. Though it was still important that he remember how to use it—the better shot he was, the fewer times he'd have to pull the trigger, after all.

He looked down and over his shoulder again to Astrid, making sure she was alright. She looked back at him, but he couldn't quite read her, and it seemed to him that she was wrestling with something that was bothering her.

She said nothing, so he turned back, and set the target down the line 15 more yards, to the far end of the range: 200 feet away. He took aim again; very careful aim. Hound, not having been fitted with zoom lenses for his optical sensor array (very few mechs were), was in the possession of a scope, but he preferred to practice without it.

_SHPOW_

_SHPOW_

He was a little rusty, but that was to be expected. Still a decent shot, though, by Autobot standards, and a fair sharpshooter, though not by any means the best. He was often used to fill the role in a pinch, though.

Hound looked at the target, seeing that he'd made his mark. His shoulders slumped and he put the rifle away again, still contemplating the target with a vague sense of frustration; the irony of not being fit for anything but soldiering, when you wanted to do anything but. He didn't like that he was able to shoot that accurately.

After a few moments it occurred to him that he'd been stroking his chin plating as he gazed, stopping once he became conscious of it.

He looked down at Astrid, who seemed to be lost in her own not-altogether-pleasant reverie, though she was looking at him, absorbing some visual information that came her way. She noticed that he'd turned to look at her, though, which brought her out of it. She reached up and pulled down the muffs to hear him.

"I wish I could see the target to see how you did," she offered. There was almost a listless quality to her voice, as though she didn't feel wholly present.

"No you don't," he replied back. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

And out they went.

They spent the next hour or so in relative seclusion—Hound didn't much feel like trying to come up with another potentially bad idea as a means to kill time before their flight. They ended up holing up in their quarters while Hound tuned into a local TV station and projected it onto the far wall while they lay together in a quiet pile on the berth.

Content?

Eh, content enough, at least.

–

It was a long time before the two of them drove up to the warehouse again; but what with Anchorage's higher latitude, you almost couldn't tell that much time had passed.

The two had made their departure from the Ark rather unobtrusively. There were a few goodbyes reserved for the closest of mechs; Beachcomber and Trailbreaker mostly, though Jazz had made sure to hunt them down and get a word in too before their leave, as well as a private "good luck with everything" to Hound. They checked out with Red Alert, and Astrid forked over the card key to a room that she never used. Red shot the Jeep a squinting, suspicious look as he took it and put it away—but hey, that was your typical Red Alert—so Hound just smiled and shrugged, feigning amiable stupidity.

The pavement of the small parking lot (built for maybe about 5 vehicles) was dark and damp, Hound noticed as he pulled in and cued the dock door to open. It'd rained earlier.

He set his sensors over to a small structure over off to the side, beside the chainlink fence separating their property from the next: it was something like a tent, made of green polyester and clear plastic. That was Astrid's greenhouse, and her first attempt at growing vegetables. From what he could tell, the plants were doing fine.

Hound drove into a small area, the dock closing behind them.

"Actually, could you leave it open? I think I'd like some fresh air."

He commanded the mechanism to reverse itself while a hidden sensor embedded in the wall detected his Autobot/BREME transponder and proceeded to open the heavy, bullet-proof hatch to allow them entrance into the warehouse. The whole airlock-like chamber served something of a purpose; it prevented non-authorized vehicles entry onto the premises. Though if someone _really_ wanted to get inside, they'd just blow a hole in the wall anyway. The chamber itself, though, was blast and bullet-proof, so theoretically, a trespasser could get caught in there and locked in. Hound highly doubted that any of those things would ever happen, though. If someone wanted in badly enough, they'd find a way in.

But as asked, he left both doors open to let in a little autumn breeze. With windchill, he guessed it was around 55F: a balmy summer afternoon for Anchorage.

Astrid leapt out of the vehicle, grabbing her bag out of the back seat to let Hound transform. He did, filling up the wide expanse of living space little more appropriately.

"Well," she said abstractly. "I guess I have some work to do."

Hound looked about. Now that he thought about it, he did also, but something in him really didn't want to. He noticed that the air wandering in was a chilly off-shore breeze; a warning that winter was right around the corner. But something else was on the wind—a distant tenseness, as though it were carrying charged particles from a thunderstorm battering the most distant Aleutians.

"Wait," he found himself saying. He knelt down as she turned around, duffel bag still on her shoulder.

Astrid approached him curiously, but he could feel that she was distraught at being back. "What is it?"

Hound took the bag off her shoulder and set it on the ground, reaching forward in achingly gentle movements and tilted her head up for a kiss. After a mere instant of surprise she yielded, opening up. He liked her mouth—no—he _loved_ her mouth. It was small, but it was hot and wet, and she was full of fire whenever she used it. He loved each and every one of her teeth and their shapes. And her tongue... she worked wonders with it as though the dexterity she had in all of her fingers could be found in that singular muscle, and then some. He greatly enjoyed the way it felt against his glossa, the way they sometimes fought like they were doing now.

Astrid had grabbed the sides of his head, her little hands radiating heat. He felt her breathing hard and heavy through her nose. The green mech couldn't help but grab the rest of her as they kissed; her arms, her hips, her rear. He was kneading her, shaping her like clay, like a sculptor in a sudden fit of passionate creativity, trying to capture the fleetingness of a living creature in his work.

Why this and why now? Hound didn't much like analyzing his own thoughts because it usually ended in disappointment or frustration, but before long he was forced to do just that.

"Hound..." Astrid gasped, breaking away just as he was beginning to catch her scent. She had sunk into his left side, the crook of his arm and shoulder. Did he do something wrong?

"What's the matter?" he softly asked, lifting his arm away to get a better look at her.

"I just...I don't know. My heart just isn't in it right now," she murmured, looking at the ground.

The words stung him. "Why not?" He realized just as the words left his vocalizer that he sounded rather insensitive. "I-I mean-"

"It's this whole weekend. It's... I'm just tired. I've been given a lot to think about." She seemed to ignore his possible rudeness. It was totally and completely understandable, though. It was just one thing after another for the past two days. BREME was especially skilled at creating overwhelming scenarios. As he looked down at her, though, Hound sensed that something else was on her tongue. She wanted to say it, but whether or not she would... "Hound?"

He wasn't sure that he _wanted_ to hear it, actually. "Mhm?"

"Are you okay?"

The question caught him off-guard. "Well, yeah... I was just hoping..." What in the pit was he trying to say?

"Hoping to... what?" Astrid looked at him suspiciously.

Hound knitted his brow ridges together. "Just... I donno, reconnect? Feel like myself?" He plopped down on the ground with a _clang_ and rested his arms on his knees. Astrid fixed up her hair a little before stuffing them into her hands into her pockets. "You do it all the time," he grumbled, and once again caught himself saying the wrong thing just a little too late.

"Excuse me? I do what all the time?"

Hound, while hardly the type to say anything like that, also happened to hardly be the type to back track with his tail between his legs. It was his motto (well, one of them, at any rate) to not say anything that he couldn't substantiate.

"You use sex as a way to ground yourself and forget about your problems." There. He said it.

Astrid seemed incensed. Though perhaps not so much at exactly what he said, but still had to get upset on principle. "Your point is?"

"You do it, how come _I_ can't do it? It's... it's almost like I can't be spontaneous and hurt in the same way that you do. Like I've got to think of sex differently because I'm a giant alien robot. I thought that was the notion we were out to _conquer_? What, is it because I'm big? Because I'm made of metal?" He found himself gesticulating wildly; more than was considered polite among Cybertronians. He quickly reigned in his arms, though, out of courtesy. He was sure Astrid wasn't appreciating him flailing about.

"Hound," Astrid said, rubbing at her face now. "It's not that. It's just that, quite frankly, my libido has been more or less beaten down to dust thanks to Prowl and my family. The more time I've had to think about it, the more it bothers me."

"It bothers me too, babe," he said. The term of endearment just sort of came out, Hound realized with surprise, deciding to roll with it. "And reaffirming who we are and what we're about is my way of coping. At least give me that." He paused to see if she had anything to say, but she was silent, so he continued. "And what about you? Aside from yesterday, you've been distant for a while now. Would you tell me what the heck is going on? I'm the one that bared my spark to you out there yesterday, and I'm still recovering from that. I don't think this is very fair of you."

He could see the crown of her head from this vantage point, a view that he often had. She wasn't liking the tables being turned, he realized. Otherwise, she'd have looked at him.

"Come on," he said, softening. He went went to turn her face up toward him. "Tell me what's-"

"Hold up," she interrupted, walking past him over to a console table next to a series of bookshelves that were up against the wall. Hound was slightly miffed that she'd so rudely cut him off like that, but he followed her with his optics and quickly realized what had caught her attention. "I _never_ leave drawers open like that..."

Hound, ever-attentive to visual cues, caught the tiniest black smudge on the wall, from the piece of furniture having been moved by no more than an inch.

"Someone was here while we were gone," he said quietly.


	5. Fortunate Son

The world around her disappeared for a moment as she tore open the drawer the rest of the way, and started rifling through it.

Truth be told, she was at first relieved that she'd escaped that conversation, but the suspicious misplacement that'd caught her eye soon had a life of its own. Forgetting everything that was just said between them, Astrid tried desperately to remember how things in there had been ordered, but it was no use. She shut it and turned around to face the rest of the warehouse, eyes wildly darting from one thing to the next, trying to see if anything else was out of place. The mech seemed to be doing the same.

"I'm going to go check the office," she said, about to turn on her heel and briskly make for her own area of the living space.

"I'll come with you," Hound said, stopping her short. Before she had time to look confused, beside him materialized Hound's holo. Astrid nodded and made off for the stairs.

It was strange to hear another pair of feet pitter-pattering behind her on the concrete or shuffle along the area rugs. She glanced back for just a moment to get a look at Hound, who had his head bowed down as he kneeled on the floor, eyes dark. Then she disappeared inside.

After flipping the lights on, the first thing she went for was the filing cabinet, which was chock full of BREME paperwork. She pulled the key out from a small hide-away box on the underside of a desk drawer, and flung it open. "Oh god... how in the hell am I supposed to know if anything's gone missing," she murmured, frantically flipping through the files. Hound was somewhere behind her, rummaging through shelves.

"Just take your time," came his voice from the air around the holo. It was almost comforting.

"Should we call BREME?" she said, stopping for a moment to rub at the side of her face. A headache an upset stomach were coming on. "What did they say we should do in these situations?"

"I'll call Agent Doley," Hound said.

"I'll keep looking," she stumbled. The holo nodded solemnly and disappeared, leaving her to take inventory of her things alone. Astrid turned back to the filing cabinet full of lightly confidential information an continued to go through it at a panicked pace. She was, quite frankly, shaken. Astrid had never been broken into before, nor robbed, and given the circumstances these days, it was hard for her to believe that a petty thief would have, let alone _could_ have, broken in. Like she'd said already: her life wasn't simple anymore.

No longer was a robbery just a robbery.

Thing was, she wasn't even sure if it was a robbery at all.

She jumped up and ran to the master suite just to make sure her valuables were still there just in case. She went through her small jewelry box, and nothing was amiss. She ducked under the (rarely-used) bed to make sure the fire safe was still there, which it was. A pair of luminescent eyes greeted her as well, peering out at her like opalescent orbs peeking out from behind some shoe boxes. There was a small, fearful meow.

"Stanley!" she gasped. "Oh my god, you poor thing... Come on out," she beckoned. "Come on..."

It took some goading, but she eventually got the feline to come out from under the bed. He was suspicious of her for a moment, but then decided that all was safe in the house again. He headbutted her hand and meowed again, demanding that he be comforted.

Astrid sat on the edge of the bed, thinking about where else she would have kept anything of a delicate nature, petting the cat absentmindedly, when Hound's holo stepped in. (She was grateful that he made sure never to appear in the same way that he disappeared.) She looked at his chest, not particularly liking making eye contact—though she was getting better at it.

"Well, what's the normal procedure for this sort of thing?"

The holo looked at the floor and paused; Hound was hesitating. "Doley said that they knew about the break-in, arrested some suspects, and came in to take evidence and clean up already."

Astrid stopped petting, but Stanley, fast asleep on her lap, didn't seem to notice. Her jaw fell open.

"And they didn't _tell__us_?"

"...they didn't tell us."

…

"Did you want to come back out so we can talk about this?"

Astrid was staring at Stanley, boiling with anger. "There's not really anything to talk about. They have everything under control, they caught the perps, and nothing seems to be missing. And that's the end of that."

"Don't think that I can't tell that you're upset," Hound said gingerly, but assertively. "I meant for you to come back down so we can sort this out?"

"There's no room for discussion," she muttered, staring at the holo's feet, noticing for the first time that he was wearing a pair of black converse shoes. Astrid's thoughts were on BREME, truthfully. Sentiments of anger and betrayal mingled with frustration and obligatory gratefulness. It dawned on her then just how much the bureau controlled their lives, now. The human and the mech had traded freedom for security. According to Ben Franklin, they currently deserved neither. "At this point, it's as if nothing even happened."

"Astrid, don't shut me out..." he warned.

"Just give me a few minutes alone, wouldya?"

As requested, the holo disappeared and Astrid reclined back on her bed in peace. Stanley didn't appreciate the interruption, but soon settled down again at the foot of the bed while Astrid stared at the ceiling. She caught herself grinding her teeth and stopped when a dull ache in her temples became apparent.

She lay there for some time, hearing Hound going about something out in the open area of the warehouse, before deciding that to get her mind off this mess, she'd get up to get some files ready for work the next day. Astrid rolled out of the bed, down the hallway, and back into the office where she booted up the computer and set to work.

About an hour or so passed with her typing and clicking away, checking email and news sites here and there, with a nagging thought at the back of her mind. She began to wonder if she could call this quits at any time and for any reason, or if she was contractually obligated to finish work on this operation before she could extract herself from BREME. She didn't think about how that would impact her relationship with Hound, but the question wouldn't quite leave her alone all the same. The images that Optimus Prime had showed the two of them of Decepticon attacks came to mind, and she swallowed. Would she be allowed to resign due to emotional distress? Or physical injury? Man-made duress was not something that she was accustomed to working under. The idea of not having an out scared her now, especially in light of the attempted robbery.

Biting at the skin around her healing lip, she opened up the filing cabinet again to reach for her copy of the contract that she'd signed not 2 months ago. Flipping through the sheaves of paper, she came across the literature that outlined her health benefits and paused. Astrid could have sworn that her contract was in that same file, front and center. She flipped through the papers a bit and found her lease agreement for the warehouse (that she didn't actually need to pay for), and then finally the fat stack of guidelines describing standard BREME procedures and protocol. That's all that was in there.

Where was the contract?

She got up from the computer chair and looked about the room, trying desperately to remember where else she could have put it. Whirling around and getting down on her knees, she ripped open the desk drawers again, sifting through the stacks of papers inside. Bills, bills, a bank statement, a flier for a local vet that she planned on taking Stanley to for his next check-up and the menu of a pizza delivery joint.

Drawer below that was full of magazines, spiral notebooks, a bottle of febreeze and some other random junk. No legal documents. Astrid leapt up and darted across the room to a bookcase, picking a binder out full of this year's tax information; nothing. Another one with old medical records and proof of insurance that she didn't have anymore; nothing. She went back to her desk and went tore through the piles of junk mail there. Nothing.

She turned around and leaned against the edge of the desk with her butt, arms folded tightly across her chest as she stared into space. Suddenly there was blood on her tongue again, and Astrid realized that she'd chewed open her split lip again. It stung.

Was that the thing that got stolen?

…

No. No, it couldn't be.

But if it was...

Astrid was suddenly sick to her stomach, and her hands grew cold and clammy.

"Hound..." she murmured, then darted out of the office and back out into the open. "Hound!" she called out desperately from behind the kitchen counter, grasping the edge of the surface. Just beyond the human-sized seating area was Hound's own seating area, some three times as large as hers. His table was just barely taller than her, and the seat of his chair was about chest-height. He looked up from a datapad (it appeared to be a copy of the New York Times), and his facial expression was immediately turned to that of concern by the tone in her voice.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't find my BREME contract."

–

The two of them, human and hologram, spent the next 45 minutes tearing the place apart.

"Are you _sure_ it's not in your dresser drawer?"

Astrid shook her head, downing the last of her gin and tonic. "Only thing in there is my passport," she groaned. She set the glass tumbler down and rubbed violently at her face. "Ugh!"

"And you checked the fire safe, right?"

"Twice, Hound. I think it's safe to assume that it's gone."

Hound was sitting behind the couch that Astrid was seated on, his knees drawn up and her back to him. She reached up a bit without looking, and Hound lightly grasped her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. She rested her head against it.

"Alright then," he said softly. "It's gone. And that means what?"

"Nothing else was stolen, so it means they were after information."

"What did the contract say, exactly?"

"Not much that could be considered incriminating," she grumbled and sighed. "It made mention of Chugach, and described the general idea of the project. That they were mining for rare and politically sensitive material, and that my job is to... oh, you know all this already."

"It's okay, it's okay," he said, holding her hand firmly. She felt his other hand, complete with massive fingers, come to rest on the opposite shoulder. There wasn't actually enough room there for all four, so two of them ended up against the side of her arm too. Astrid found his voice to be incredibly soothing; it was soft and gentle, but his sheer size just gave it a tone of solidity and strength that she felt just came with being a giant mech. "Hey, look at me."

She did. Hound brushed some stray hairs away from her face with a bulky fingertip, and looked straight into her eyes.

"We're gonna get through this, alright? Everything's going to turn out fine." Astrid found herself nodding. "We'll contact the bureau and they'll let us know what to do." He paused to get a better look at her; she could see his great optics looking from one of her eyes to the other, reading her. He never said it in plain words, but she knew that he could read her physical signs more than any human ever could. She was an open book to him. "And you know that I would protect you with my life, right? I'd take a howitzer shell for you. Anything in my power to keep you safe."

"I'd say the same, but you wouldn't even have enough pieces of me left for a funeral after that. Let's say that I'd take bullets for you instead."

Hound shook his head. "I'll take the bullets too," he said, a little smile creeping onto his wholesome face. "No putting yourself in danger like that over what's little more than dust to me."

Oh, so she wasn't allowed to prove herself in a situation like that? "We'll see."

–

BREME proper was notified later that day about the stolen contract. Astrid was going to get another copy of hers, while they would go and question the perps again to see if they could get any more out of them. The bureau didn't seem horribly upset at the discovery, and their reaction was almost like that of an adult with a tattling child. Astrid and Hound got pat on the head and told that the grown-ups were going to take care of this.

"I'm really starting to hate them," Astrid said over dinner.

"Maybe it really isn't that big of a deal?" Hound suggested. "Like you said, that the contract didn't have that much stuff in it. It's not like there were coordinates, or names, or anything else like that there. It didn't even make reference to the Autobots, did it?"

Astrid shook her head. "It doesn't matter though. They could have taken pictures of everything or hacked my computer as far as we know. We don't even know how long they were in here, and BREME doesn't seem to care."

"They're... arrogant, that's for sure," admitted the mech. "A lot of the 'bots don't like them, but Prime sees them as an ally. They see us as a tool."

"What about Decepticons? What's their take on them?"

"A nuisance at best, a dangerous loose end at worst. They tried to communicate with them in the early days to form an alliance, but the 'cons wanted no part of it. They're like a band of outlaws more than anything at this point, or pirates: pillaging and burning here and there to sustain themselves, and then going back into hiding where they smoulder in anger and bitterness until they need to come out for energy again."

"Can't they just go back home?"

"My take on that is that Starscream doesn't have the forethought to organize something that major. He'd have to build ships, store fuel... I think he actually wants to stay here, because he's hiding from Megatron, and it's easy to rule a captive audience. Primus forbid they find him."

"Mega-who?" She'd learned long before that their Cybertronian names were not directly translated into English for such silly-sounding mantles, but rather nicknames, almost. She'd asked Hound what his real name was at some point, only to be told that she would only hear half of it if he told her.

"Megatron, their leader. He went missing some time ago, and Starscream was quick to take control. If he were here, the 'cons would be much more of a threat, but not under Starscream's command." Hound shook his head here for emphasis.

Astrid nodded, and was vaguely thankful. She'd never suffered at their hand, but understood that this was one of the better situations in an abstract sort of way. But something occurred to her, then: "But if Autobots have the means to leave, why don't you? Don't you miss home?"

"We... don't actually have much in the way of space-faring vehicles, and building one in secret would be-"

"In _secret__?_" Astrid interrupted, looking at him. "Don't tell me that they don't want you building your own craft?"

Hound looked away and scratched the back of his big green head. "Well... if you're going to say it like that, then yes. BREME has shuttles that can put us in the moon's orbit, with a capacity of about 10 bots each. They have enough to jettison all of us, but... they want to make sure that we're not coming and going as we please." He paused and turned to her. "But it's not like some of us don't want to stay!" he quickly appended, then looked down. "I'd much rather stay on Earth than go back. Cybertron's a wasteland now anyways. And who knows what's gone on with the war since we disappeared."

"There's no communicating with anyone back home?"

"We can travel faster than the speed of light in our ships, but commlinks can't be established over such distances. You have to be within earshot, so to speak."

"So you're being held captive here is what you're saying."

Hound didn't reply, and just sighed a bit instead.

"That's not right!" she exclaimed, pushing away her plate of food to get a better look at Hound, who was seated on a bench behind her. "If you decided to stop obeying them like slaves, what could they do? You're giant alien robots, for Pete's sake. You're-"

"_Part__of__an__alliance_," he gravely finished for her. "We came to an agreement back in '91; they keep their end of the bargain if we keep ours."

"And what bargain was that?"

"Energy and special refugee status in return for tech and military support. If it weren't for the bureau, we'd be living like the Decepticons."

There was a deep sadness and resentment just barely touching on the edges of his voice, but it was unmistakable.

"What... happens if someone refuses to honor the deal?"

"There was a mech who did once, maybe about 15 years ago. Name was... Tailgate, I think. I didn't really know him, assigned to different units and all. I heard that he'd gone to BREME HQ over in Nevada to make his case, said he and a couple others would defect if they didn't reconsider the captivity clause." Hound shook his head briskly. "Never heard from him again. Later a BREME agent delivered an affidavit that said Tailgate was MIA and presumed dead. If you ask me," he said, lowering his voice to a bare murmur. "The bureau killed him for parts."

Astrid studied him closely, and noticed that he was consumed with thought. There was an anger in him; a real anger, not frustration from insecurity like where his bouts of negativity usually sprouted from. She stood up from her seat on the couch and stopped just next to him, wanting to put her hand on his arm, but hesitated for a second. Astrid had never seen him quite like that before, and some small piece of her was afraid, but only for a moment. She lifted up her arm and let her palm come to rest on a sleek and shallow indentation on what would have been his bicep, her fingers brushing against a thick yellow stripe there. He turned his head and looked down at her, his features immediately softening.

"I'm sorry," was all she could think of to say.

He fit his giant hands under her arms and lifted her over his leg to stand between his parted thighs. Astrid grasped at some pieces of his chest, as though to hold on. "I don't mind working with BREME if it means that I get to share all of this with you," he said, kissing the top of her head. "They made this—_us_—possible."

"I know."

Truth be told, that's what she was afraid of.

–

The week passed slowly, with rippling undertones of tenseness. Astrid was stuck inside most of the day writing reports while Hound was called out to accompany first the survey teams and then the earth-movers and trucks full of construction equipment: concrete mixers, steel, lumber, generators, machinery, and most importantly, construction workers.

It was slow-going. It was revealed that excavation would begin in the side of a small hill, with a winding ramp that would lead down to the main gallery where the shafts would be, taking miners down to a classified depth to excavate the ore. Two weeks passed while construction teams worked day and night to excavate the gallery, and mobile bungalows were finally delivered so that the contractors, engineers, and scientists could work on-site.

And Astrid, too.

She was to be sharing a bungalow office with two geologists on loan from UC Berkeley; one of them was a 26 year-old grad student who was hoping to use this for her dissertation. Sharon Holm was her name, originally from Flagstaff, Arizona. The other, a geology professor at the university with a special interest in mineralogy, was a man in his late 40's by the name of Dr. Chris Lee. Astrid was simultaneously pleased to meet both of their acquaintances, and feeling quite stupid in the presence of such learned academics.

Astrid was quite rusty at the technical aspect of her job, though having kept up with the science news sites, blogs, and books over the years since school helped to keep the important parts fresh. BREME had personally trained her in the software that she would be using to compute her data, and even provided a refresher course on some of the more complicated equipment, like the energy-dispersive detector.

At first, things almost looked normal, aside from Hound, who was assigned to head the security detail. And then on Tuesday of the 2nd week after breaking ground, a band of marines arrived to serve as Hound's unit. Astrid didn't like the looks of them. Sharon asked her professor what kind of project this was, exactly, who could only answer with a shake of his head. It seemed as though they knew less than Astrid did. She asked if the acronym BREME meant anything to them, but they'd never heard of it before. She quickly shut her mouth lest she say something that she wasn't supposed to.

Taking a closer look around at the people scurrying about the site, Astrid noted that the only indication of any bureau agents about the place were the men and women dressed in sharp, black suits. Doley, Astrid and Hound's main contact, was there, but something told her that it would be bad form to strike up any sort of casual conversation with him. He looked grim and busy, like the others.

She heard a sharp whistle from behind her, and turned around to see what it was, facing the early-autumn wind now. Astrid saw Hound peek out from behind one of the white bungalows. When she spotted him, he waved her over.

"I wanted to show you this before it was installed," he said eagerly, a piece of tech in his hand.

"I didn't know you could whistle."

"It was recorded," he cheerfully dismissed.

"So what's that?"

It was a small box looking thing, with stuff on it. She didn't really know how to describe it other than that it looked like a machine part, it looked purposeful, and it looked like an Autobot creation.

"This is a hologram projector." He crouched down and held out the thing so Astrid could get a better look. "Just arrived today. Wheeljack made it, using the specs from my own personal equipment. BREME's getting it in exchange for a half ton of uranium, some gold and silicon."

"And... all it does is project holograms? You're getting all that for this?"

Hound glanced around for a second before lowering his voice. "Subspace and holo technology are some of our most closely guarded secrets," he explained. "They're our trump cards."

Astrid squinted. "Then why are you just handing this over to them? Won't they be able to reverse-engineer from it?"

Hound shook his head. "It's tamper-proof. If they so much as open the casing or attempt to access the programming, it'll destroy itself. Non-lethally, of course."

She blinked and looked at the thing again. "Wow, that... seems like a lot of trouble. Are you sure you wouldn't have just been better off denying their request?"

"No, we need it. Currently, anyone with a pair of binoculars or an aircraft can spot the site, and we can't have that. So it's a camouflage device more than anything."

Astrid nodded.

Hound went off to go install the thing and instruct one of the engineers and a few BREME agents about how to operate it. He said that it would disrupt the visible spectrum of light in a dome-shape, with the projector at the center, about a quarter-mile in diameter and 125 feet at its height. From the outside, the site would look very similar to what it was about a month prior, before construction went underway. A thin, white line, like the markings on a football field, would mark the edge of the hologram, where it came into contact with the ground. The hologram itself would terminate at sea-level.

From the inside, very little would change; the hexagonal lattice of the dome would be visible, though extremely faint, like a light window tinting. The hologram would be relatively massless, though during the winter months a temperature difference of about 5 degrees Fahrenheit would likely be present. He instructed them on the technical aspects of its operation, very little of which Astrid understood other than how to turn it on or off.

It was placed on top of a bungalow and a few of the workers set out to install it asap. Astrid distantly wondered how it was going to be explained to Sharon and Chris, and when their moment of revelation would come.

Astrid went to and from the work site separately from Hound in her little yellow car. His job had more facets to it, and he kept longer hours than her.

On her way home one evening, Astrid pulled over alongside the newly carved dirt road to enjoy the scenery, glowing in the pink twilight. It was September 23rd, and it was the first clear evening that the city had seen in over a week.

The pines looked black in the dim, rich light. They covered the mountainsides on either side of her as the coarse hairs on the back of a boar, the sloping walls of earth rising up like the arms of a sleeping giant. They'd be covered in snow soon, and the pines would look even darker against the white. Astrid pulled up her collar and stuck her hands in her pockets when a cold breeze passed through the valley, reminding her that her first winter up here was fast approaching. Would they be working straight on through spring, she wondered? Ah, she knew the answer to that already. It was just a matter of time before she'd get the memo.

It was difficult for her to feel sad and pathetic out here alone, even when she stole a look at the glove box in her car, wherein lay her loaded gun. She took it out and held it as she sat sideways in the driver's seat, studying every edge and screw. It was heavy. Appropriate, considering that she realized it's potency as a symbol for everything strange going on in her life right now. Here, she was holding an object that she'd never before thought to touch in response to a situation that she didn't know could exist.

_I__wonder__if__I__could__take__out__a__FOIA__request__on__BREME__,_ she thought. _Or__if__they__'__d__look__at__the__acronym__and__wonder__what__the__hell__I__was__talking__about__._

Astrid put the gun back when she heard a caravan of trucks coming down the road carrying dirt to be dumped elsewhere. She closed the door before they passed, not wanting dust and dirt to be kicked up into the car.

She allowed her thoughts to wander to the stolen job contract, and the people that committed the robbery. It was a puzzle that occupied her often, though she didn't much bring it up with Hound anymore; there wasn't much _to_ bring up. But who were they? Where did they come from, and on behalf of whom did they trespass? They were things that she'd realized would never see the light; their information would be locked away in some BREME vault, the true nature of their crimes manipulated and falsified, and they'd get put away for something they might not have actually committed. Though in their case, not much of the story would have to get changed; only that they took nothing, and that the owner of the property (which was BREME and not Astrid) remotely detected their presence and alerted the authorities. Simple as that, case closed.

It was possible that BREME had not recovered the stolen contract. It was possible that they did. It was possible that it was lost, or that it had been passed into different hands before the original perpetrators were caught. Anything seemed possible anymore. Strange things had a way of happening—though never, Astrid was learning, did they happen by accident.

–

As luck would have it, Hound and Astrid were able to both leave work around the same time one friday in October. They decided almost immediately to make a date out of it.

Bits of snow was already starting to settle in the shadows of stones and trees, though not much—Anchorage was a relatively rainless, albeit humid, area. It made the nape of her neck sweat underneath her coat.

"Where'd you have in mind?" Astrid asked as she got into her car. Hound was lightly leaning on the vehicle; more for display than for support. By his body language, he looked at ease with her, which made her smile. There were some days where the mech seemed tense or anxious, and would deny it or wouldn't tell her why. She was quite guilty of the same thing, and the knowledge that he still had no idea why her general disposition had turned a little fouler since the relocation was something she didn't like. But how could she tell him? She couldn't, almost. And so she lived for the smaller moments like this more often; intermittent opportunities for optimism and happiness, whether by getting away to be in the trees, or booze, or high calorie food... always near him, but not too near. But she sensed that there was none of that going on in his head then, and that made her glad.

Hound scratched at the plates of his neck idly, looking off toward the white tarp tunnel through which the dump trucks were made to enter and exit the cloaked zone to make for less suspicious footage should someone be recording the area (something so ludicrous as trucks vanishing into thin air would readily be dismissed as a hoax by just about everyone). "Well, there was a thing I wanted to show you..." he mused aloud, looking down at her with a glint in his bright blue eyes. There was mischief there.

Astrid cocked her eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure I've seen every sexy inch of it already," she quipped back, biting her lip and grinning at the end.

"And you say that I have _my_ mind in the gutter all the time!" he laughed.

"I know you!"

Hound just cheerfully shook his head and casually transformed beside her. "Follow me, okay?"

Astrid closed her door and started up the engine.

They weren't driving very long, and didn't stray very far from the road when he returned to his great, bipedal form and beckoned her to come near. It was sunset again, and the sun was just beginning to disappear behind the mountains behind them and peek out from underneath some thick, gray clouds. They were in a patch of forest that was thinner and younger than the surrounding area, but at the far end was a great big spruce tree, knotted and gangly with old age. But the amazing part of it was that it was split down the middle, and hollowed out near the bottom, its insides blackened by what she could only imagine was a lightning strike. And yet, the thing was still alive and green as ever! Even in the fading light she could make out the fiery pinks and purples of fireweed growing around the roots.

An ease passed over her then; she felt peaceful for the first time in a long while. Astrid could hardly keep the smile from her face.

"This... is why I wanted to come to this state originally," she said as Hound took a step closer. She closed the remaining inches and leaned against the side of his leg, letting his warmth pass through her coat like an embrace. Astrid looked up to meet his gaze. "Thanks for reminding me. Come down; I want to kiss you."

She waved Hound down to her level impatiently. His hulking form lowered itself into a kneel before her, and a moment later she was enveloped in him. Her face warmed up, just as the rest of her, and the cool air bit at her exposed skin in a gentle way. Her breath turned to fog.

Tender affection quickly gave way to something more vigorous, but after a few minutes, when Hound started grabbing hard enough to irritate old marks, he stopped, though still held on. His head, some 3 times the size of her own, was nearly level with hers by some way of bodily contortion on his part, though he still had to look down to meet her gaze.

"Can I tell you what I see when I look down at you at times like this?" he said softly. She didn't detect fear in his voice, or even apprehension; just want for honesty and emotional intimacy.

"Hm?"

"I see you on the ground, with the mountainside on top of you." His voice had dropped to a near whisper.

"You know what I see when I look up at you?" He said nothing. "I see the mountain." Astrid kissed the tip of his nose. "I... have something I've been meaning to tell you," she admitted with a little uncertainty. He looked at her with cautious curiosity, but she wasn't going to go there yet. "But not now; later. Right now my atoms are itching to experience your atoms: let's do the universe good." She removed her hands from the sides of his face and placed them instead squarely on his chest, pushing him back ever so lightly. Hound got the hint and did the rest of the work for her, resting back on his heels, hands on his thighs as he watched and waited for her to make a move.

Once he took her for her word, his presence shifted from tenderly receptive to hungry. There was a slight air of government about him then, of control. It wasn't from anything that he was doing, Astrid noticed, but only from being there, in such sharp contrast to herself. She was at a disadvantage, she thought as she lowered her head down to the warm, heavily armored juncture of his legs, as wider than her arm was long. Intimidation couldn't have been further from her mind as her tongue darted out to lick at the corners of his pelvic plating, his hands gently resting behind her head and back to shield her from the cold and bring her closer in.

But his first guttural noise was interrupted. Hound stopped, his hands suddenly stiff about her, and Astrid froze.

"I think there's people," the mech whispered, straightening up and glancing about. Astrid recovered from her prone position on his lap and sunk in between his thighs some, as though to hide.

"Are you sure it's not an animal? Bears?"

Hound was still, as though listening almost. "It's hard to tell. No... they're smaller than that. Definitely people." A pause, and his voice was lowered even further. "A group of 3 at 2 o'clock, about 200 feet away. Get up and get behind me."

Astrid obeyed without a second thought. Hound stayed there on the ground and Astrid darted around to shelter herself under his left arm, peering around to see.

Twilight was upon them, and the valley plunged into deep shadow. Seeing into the trees was nigh impossible for her, as it was now a wall of black around them. A noise. Was that them?

"They're breaking off to surround us. I'm going to do something, so stay still and quiet."

Astrid nodded, even though he didn't see her. Suddenly, it got slightly darker. The woman glanced up to see the familiar lattice of hexagonal lines surrounding them, and knew he'd projected a light-bending hologram. Hound didn't move an inch, other than to ease his arm down to keep her close.

Then in the faintest whisper: "I'm going to call in some of the marines. Something's fishy about-"

"You'd step away from the lady if you knew what was best for you," a voice called out from the shadows. Suddenly, lights erupted in her eyes as four flashlights switched on in front of them like floodlights. She guessed that someone was holding two, for some reason. At any rate, it was bright enough for her to have to close her eyes and turn away. Astrid wasn't sure what this meant for Hound, but he had to be able to switch to some other visible spectrum in order to see in these situations.

"Oh come on, we can see you," came another voice.

"So what were you two doing way out over here, huh?"

"Something you didn't want anyone else to know about?"

The heat was rising to her face at the accusations.

"How about you let the girl go, huh? She didn't do anything to you."

"She's just a puny human, you scumbag! You could crush her head under your thumb if you wanted! There's no honor in that!"

The lights were moving about as they shouted, their voices escalating. It sounded like two men and a woman was among them.

"Let her go!"

Suddenly an ear-piercing sound cut through the air like lightning, and both her and Hound jumped in surprise. Astrid' breath hitched, and she suddenly found it very hard to breathe or think straight. The noise sounded again: a gunshot.

Astrid didn't have time to react as she was wrenched from Hound's grasp. She gave a loud shriek as she was dragged across the forest floor, kicking and struggling, but the arm that held her was too strong.

Hound's disguise had been shut down almost immediately as he whirled around and jumped up, 15 feet tall and pissed. She could see his eyes shone like fire.

"_You__let__her__go__!_" he bellowed, storming after them. Astrid was too busy trying to claw her way out of the chokehold she was being dragged by to notice that the others had joined her assailant to restrain her. In a matter of seconds she was passed on and was quickly bound in duct tape.

The sound of trees breaking and earth thundering met her ears as she writhed now like a pathetic worm, her screams muffled into grumbling moans by the tape that covered her face. She tried to call out his name, but it came out sounding like everything else: "Hmmn! _Hmmmnd__!_"

Pitch black fear ran through her veins, and for the first time in a while, she genuinely feared for her life. Through the haze of the animalistic instinct to fight or flee, she saw the giant mech get nearer as he fought his way through the pine trees. When they reached the turnout, there was an unmarked van parked there alongside Astrid's Xterra.

Hound was upon them, and she wanted nothing more than to wiggle out of their grasp and come tumbling down onto the ground at his feet. But suddenly they stopped. One of them had brandished a handgun and was pointing it at Hound, and after a moment, Astrid realized that someone else had a second one aimed at her right temple.

"One more step and she'd dead!"

Astrid watched as Hound obeyed, the rage in his face giving way to an expression of fear and helplessness.

She couldn't breathe again; her heart felt like it was going to explode. All that occupied her consciousness was the spot on the side of her skull where the bullet would enter. It was as if all the heat in her body had drained to that single spot, like a magnifying glass focusing sunlight onto a sheet of ice. Her temple was on fire with anticipation.

"We're taking her somewhere safe," one of them said. "Somewhere where you can't hurt her anymore, you sick fucking brute."

"Don't you pretend like you know us!" Hound burst out uncontrollably. "I care about her more than anything!"

"Tell that to her family."

Many things happened simultaneously, then. There was gunfire, and there was screaming. There was white hot pain; so much so that she couldn't see, even if it had been broad daylight. But it wasn't her head, though. It was her arm. Her arm! _What__happened__to__her__arm__!_ Astrid let out a cry so hard and blood-curdling that she was sure that her lungs would come up and fill her mouth with gore.

Absolutely nothing existed outside of that pain; her whole body was one big arm with one big bullet in it. How it had happened was beyond her ability to comprehend, currently. She wasn't even aware of the curses and clamoring of her abductors, that Hound as clutching at his destroyed left optic sensor, or that she was quickly being carried into the van as someone was tearing a crude tourniquet out of the hem of their shirt.

The door closed, and through the dimness of her own consciousness, she heard him call out her name as they drove off, more threats being shouted as they disappeared down the road.

There would be no record of any Astrid Schneider being admitted to a hospital that night.


	6. Blowin' in the Wind

_**Carmilla DeWinter: **Yeah, I really think the movies had the potential to take the government/Autobot conflict up several notches, which, IMO, would have turned them into way better movies. But instead the only meaningful interactions we get are between Sam and other humans, leaving little room for characterization of anyone else! Just showing some of the tension between the bots and NEST would have opened up worlds of character development with very little effort and little screentime. Oh well. _

_And thanks Chai, for giving me some suggestions! Man, narrowing it down to just a few is going to be really hard... I have some ideas on the countertop introduction scene, though, so count that one as a definitely! And your bruises idea sounds excellent too... eeee. Just gotta figure out where I'd host the NSFW ones, though... xD_

* * *

><p><em>Drip, drip...<em>

Hound just stood there, still and silent, staring down the road where the van disappeared. To an onlooker, he might have appeared completely lifeless at that moment, with the landscape shrouded in blacks and greys, his armor catching little slivers of red from the dying sun on its corners.

_Drip..._

Even Astrid's car, normally a bright canary yellow, was now as the color of weathered shale.

The Autobot just barely heard the black SUV pull up behind him and all four doors open up.

"What's the problem?" came Agent Doley's voice from somewhere behind his left leg, shaking him out of his stupor.

_Drip._

Hound turned to face the BREME liaison and the 4 marines he brought with him in answer to a call that the mech had made a little too late. His hand was clutching at the left side of his face, but he let it drop now. Hound saw 5 pairs of eyebrows raise at the sight, which he imagined was a bit gory. He could feel his face covered in fluids oozing out from the socket where his left optical sensor net had been. He half-expected to uncover his optic and see with it again as though nothing had happened, but the left feed was totally and completely lost. The world looked stranger—without his binocular vision, everything was flat and without vitality.

"How in the hell did that happen?"

"She's gone," he said listlessly. There was static at the edges of his voice. "They took her."

Doley squinted and the marines shifted uncomfortably. "Who took who? Your partner?"

Hound grasped the sides of his head and looked away. "I-I don't know who 'they' is. She's injured... gunshot wound." His CPU was sputtering and stumbling over itself as they tended to do when a Cybertronian was overclocked from excitement or distress. Hound was finding it very hard to speak and think cohesively, what with the scenario replaying itself over and over in his head 10 times simultaneously, while also running off a list of possibilities and projections about what courses of action to take, what Astrid's abductor's motivations could have been, and the ultimate question—the _secret_ question—being if her life was in danger. "They said they'd dump her in a ravine while they drove if they spotted me following them."

Doley pulled out his iphone and fumbled around with it some while Hound continued to ruminate. Astrid had been hit, he knew that much. What was their response to that? He thought hard... right, a couple of them grew audibly upset, and it appeared as though they would try to bandage her up while on the road. So that meant they wanted her alive... at least for a while.

Dammit! If they were going to take pains to keep her alive, then he _could_ have followed them! He could have, right? It depended on what they needed out of her, though... no, it was better not to take the chance. He couldn't risk it.

Or maybe he was just a coward.

No. He couldn't blame himself like that. There was still time to fix this, though. They would not be going far, especially not with her injured like that. They couldn't risk an infection, or excessive blood loss. They'd need to get her medical attention right away...

"Hound! Are you listening to me?"

"I'm going after her," he said resolutely, completely ignoring whatever else the BREME agent had been trying to tell him.

"No, you're not. We need to open up a proper investigation and you need to get repaired."

The mech was suddenly aware of the pain in his head, damage sensors firing off warning signals like crazy. But he pushed the sensations to the back of his processes and instead focused on Doley as he cobbled together some semblance of a rescue plan.

"We're running out of _time! _She could be bleeding to death in a meat locker someplace for all we know! She's my girlfriend, for Primus' sake. I have to go, and I have to go _now._" Hound turned around and made to get down onto all fours to start the transformation process, leaving whether or not they were with him. But a series of loud pops and a sharp sting in the tire-heel of his right leg stopped him. He whipped around, still kneeling down, to see one of the marines pointing his M4 assault rifle directly at him, ready to fire again if necessary.

_Drip._

Hound ground his dental plates in anger. "You wouldn't dare," he hissed.

"Oh we would, and we've done it before. Now, you either do as I say, or you don't go anywhere."

The Jeep stared him down, his joints and servos tightening with building indignation. He had to go. She needed him. She—

With a growl, Hound transformed anyway and sped off down the road as fast as his tires could carry him. But before he could even go 50 feet, the bullets reached the second rear tire, causing him to slow down. It was no time before his front tires were shot out too. His engine cried out and he cursed aloud in the language of his kind before transforming back with the intention of sprinting back into Anchorage. If he couldn't keep cover as a terrestrial vehicle during his search, then it was officially their fault. Fortunately, their rifle fire would do no good against his plated skin, and it would take mortars to blow his legs off...

But then, there was a small ache on the back of his neck and he suddenly had no control over himself. Hound proceeded to topple forward onto the ground like a rag doll, groaning. He could feel the loose bits of machinery jostle around in his blown-out optical socket as he hit the pavement like a dead weight.

He let out the strongest, most bitter and hateful curse in Cybertronian that he could think of, as loud as his limp body could produce it. "_What have you done to me?_" he demanded. "Let me _go!_ She needs my _help!_" Hound tried with all his might to move as the marines walked around him with Doley to get a better look at him, but barely succeeded in lifting his head an inch from the ground.

"We really, truly wanted to believe you were the best Autobot for this job, Hound," Doley chided, still fiddling with his iphone. "You were almost perfect for it, even. You had extensive experience working with humans outdoors. You have an inexhaustible knowledge of image reproduction, camouflage, and data collection. You have a vested interest in this planet and genuinely care about doing your job well. But perhaps the most seductive part of your portfolio is that you came pre-packaged with a human that had not only most of what we were looking for in an environmental adviser, but had experience dealing with Autobots." Hound seethed at the BREME agent's casually mocking tone. Doley looked up from his phone to continue. "Sure, some of us were worried about your relationship, but it wasn't anything that appeared would be a problem. We set you two up nice and cozy, and all that we asked was that you do your jobs; you know, pay your dues and not bite the hand that feeds you, so to speak." He began to thoughtfully pace back and forth in front of Hound, his hands in his pockets. "But the one thing we hadn't considered was that she still had the _accessibility_ of a civilian. She was just an honorary agent... dancing between two worlds that she doesn't quite belong in. But it was an honest mistake, of course. Nobody's perfect after all, right?"

"Fuck you."

"Cute," Doley chuckled. "I suppose it was just a matter of time before someone found out that she had all the richness of bureau information without the calories, you might say. Without the protection and surveillance of an _real_ agent. Schneider just happened to be the easiest BREME target, is what it comes down to. But like I said, it was a mistake that we should have seen coming."

Hound was out of words. The pain in his head and in his tires was trickling back in as tiny raindrops, icy cold, started to sprinkle on him like dust. The faint red of the sun had disappeared, leaving only a flat, gray, ghost scape. "You're not even going to give me the honor of helping rescue her, are you," he muttered to the pavement.

"Never said that," he replied, putting the phone up to his ear. "You may be off the case, but you're not useless to the investigation." A pause. "This is Doley. Come meet me along the road about 4 miles out from the site. Bring a truck." He hung up, put the phone in his coat pocket, and turned back to Hound. "You're not completely incapacitated: I can turn your paralysis on and off remotely. So if I tell you to stand, stand. If I tell you to sit, sit. But if you get insubordinate with me again, I will chain you to the back of that truck and drag you into town until you're willing to cooperate again. Understood?"

"..."

"Excellent."

–

The ride to the Anchorage headquarters was humiliating at best: Hound had been granted mobility again for the sole purpose of getting into the truck bed and laying down, whereupon he was paralyzed again. He spent the ride thinking about what technology it was that was allowing Doley to have control over him like that, if all the agents had the equipment, if he would ever get a chance to make a break for it to go after Astrid, how to alert someone on the outside what was going on...

Of course!

His comm tech was still intact and under his control. He could send a message to someone... but who? Jazz seemed like the best mech to let in on the situation, being one of the highest-ranking bots at AHQ, but he also felt the need to tell his friends what was going on. Without giving it too much thought, he'd sent out a communique to all three:

_Jazz, Beachcomber, Trailbreaker, it's Hound. Things just took a turn for the worse up here: Astrid's been abducted, and my BREME contact is holding me hostage until they run an independent investigation and find her. He's got some kind of joint disabling device that can block power to all major points of articulation. I think some serious trouble is happening._

He ended the message with his personal authorization signature, and sent it.

It wasn't long before all three bots opened up comm lines and started flooding him with questions.

_T*: WHAT?_

_B: I knew them cats were suspicious, but this is just plain creepsville!_

_J: Hold up, no way. You got time to give me a few more specifics?_

_J, T, B*: Break-in, stolen BREME contract. Guys cornered us out of nowhere. Knew what they were doing- attempted to overwhelm with visual and audial stimuli , still not sure how one of them got close enough to take her without my noticing. We both suffered injuries. Took off in a white van, no license plate. End comm for now. They might let me contact you proper later. H* out._

_J: I'll notify Prime of the situation. Jazz out._

How _did_ they manage to get one of them close enough to grab her? Hound went back over his memory files again, and didn't spot anything in his archived sensor data that pointed to anything he could have noticed until she was already out of his grasp... by all accounts, there was nothing he _could_ have done about it. It was like he appeared out of thin air.

The truck stopped, and Hound did a quick sweep of the area to try and see where they were; his guess was an industrial park along the harbor.

"Up and out," Doley chirped, knocking on the side of the rusty truck bed with a deep, reverberating _klong_. "Thanks a bunch, Jim. Here: a nice dinner for you and the wife on me. You can take this on back to the site, now."

Hound got up and spotted the agent hand the truck driver a couple bills with a friendly pat on the back, ushering him back into the driver's seat. It was dark out, and late: just after 8, his internal chronometer told him.

He glanced about wearily doing small sweeps of the area with various equipment, though there was nothing in his surroundings that seemed to merit much concern or attention. Just the thing on the back of his head...

"_Nah ah ah ah!_" came the chiding, staccato notes from close to the ground as the truck pulled away. Hound had tried, perhaps even subconsciously, to reach back and feel whatever it is that was on him. Or, as he thought about it more, what was likely embedded just an inch, maybe even less, beneath his surface plating. And if it was small enough, it wasn't something that he'd be able to even remove with his bulky fingers. "No touching. Come on, inside."

Hound bit back a growl as Doley pointed and let the Autobot lead the way, and stormed ahead. The BREME warehouse door opened up to accommodate him, and the two walked inside.

The exterior gave away nothing about what was to be found inside; brown and shabby, with chipping paint and rusted rain gutters; dust gathering thick on windows that were coated in viscous layers of black paint on both sides. Inside, it was as high-tech and clean as any other high-priority military outfit. Even the handrails along the catwalks and stairs were painted in a glossy, seductive red. The place reminded him of a den of snakes.

"Sit," Doley ordered, and Hound plopped onto the floor as theatrically as possible, a scowl set deep in his face plates.

The agent crossed the floor over to a bank of computer screens with two technicians sitting at the helm.

"Now," he began after looking at what they were doing and turned to face Hound. He leaned back against the desk. "We understand that the first 48 hours after a person goes missing is of the utmost importance. Which is why we're calling in some local law enforcement to help us in locating her."

"From the way you're talking about it, I don't think you actually give a damn," Hound muttered.

"We have _procedures_, Hound. You think this is the first time this has happened? Your girlfriend isn't particularly special, I hate to say. Just _convenient_. And we're going to deal with this as it's convenient for us."

Hound's spark exploded in its chamber and set his core fluids aboil. "If you don't find her, I will kill you personally. You don't get to decide who's important and who isn't," he snarled, leaning forward from where he sat on the floor. But the jeep stiffened at a sharp sting on the back of his head before falling back against the wall, limp. Hound saw the small, silver remote that Doley pulled out of his coat pocket to activate the device.

"You have to be the most melodramatic Autobot I've ever dealt with. Where did Prime _find_ you? Nevermind, that's a rhetorical question."

"Doley!" came a shout from the far end of the space. The agent snapped his head around at the voice. "Cops are here."

"Ah, excellent. Let them in. I'm sure they're going to want Hound's testimony for their report also."

Hound was left to brood for a few moments. He wracked his processors for things that he could do... suddenly, it occurred to him to do a scan of the immobilizing device in the back of his head, and have it sent off to Wheeljack for analysis.

The thing was so slagging tiny, he realized after starting. It was going to be difficult to get much useful information out of it. When the data started rolling in, most of it was what he was expecting: mostly iron, tungsten, gold and silicon for the hardware, bismuth... and a tiny spot of energon, curiously enough. A few seconds was all it took to produce an image of what he was sure the object looked like: bullet-like, with a few claw-shaped prongs that must have sprung out after impact.

Hound sent off the data with a short note to Jazz, and just as Doley was returning with the police officers and deputy commissioner, he was rewarded with a reply not from Jazz, but from Prowl:

_We're assembling a team to assist you. Stand by._

A... a _team?_ Hound wasn't sure how he felt about this at first, but quickly remembered that Astrid was out there, injured and terrified, and likely in grave danger. He was going to take all the help he could slaggin' get.

"Commissioner Phillips, if I may have the honor of introducing you to your first Autobot...?"

Hound turned his gaze toward the group of humans that now stood nearby—though not too near—with mouths agape. The deputy commissioner was a heavy-set man in his late middle-years, possibly nearing retirement age. His hand, looking like an undercooked slab of meat came to cover his mouth, which was hidden underneath a bushy white mustache.

"No sir, I can't say I've met one of these yet, no..."

Hound was too consumed with anger to think anything but the worst of this man without having met him before. And Agent Doley... Hound genuinely wanted to give him a good, swift, kick to the everything.

"Well this one's named Hound. He's a scout, tracker, and hologram and data imaging expert."

"And his partner's the one that was kidnapped?" The commissioned turned to one of the officers and gave him a quick nod; a cue to pull out a pen and pad to start taking notes. Another revealed a voice recorder, but Doley gently put his hand on the device and pushed it down, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid those aren't allowed here."

The officer was about to speak up, but Phillips gave the younger man a stern look and shook his head. "You do as he says."

Doley cleared his throat. "Anyways, yes. Name's Astrid Schneider; she went missing at-"

"6:52pm earlier this evening," Hound cut in, venom in his vocalizer. "She was taken by 3 humans in an unmarked white van."

"Did you get the plate number?"

"If I there was a plate number," he snapped, "She'd be safe with me and in the hospital by now."

"Whoa whoa, in the hospital?"

"Well, he said that she sustained a couple minor injuries during the abduction..."

"_Minor injuries?_" Hound was beyond livid. "Vector Sigma, you're lucky that I can't move right now," he hissed. "She was shot, commissioner, as you can tell by the damage sustained to my left optic, here."

"Agent Doley, you mentioned no such thing. If this young woman is suffering gunshot wounds, then this first 24 hours may be the difference between life and death for her-" Hound's opinion of this man suddenly shot up. "Where's her family? Have they been notified yet? Lord almighty, for a military outfit you've really got your priorities mixed up..."

"You don't seem to understand," Doley stated flatly. "You do as we say, or you'll find your department's funding slashed. Got it? And don't worry about the girl's folks, they'll get taken care of."

"Look, all I know is that we've got a job to do, and you'd better let us do it."

"Easy enough. Now if you could finish taking statements from the Autobot, please."

The police officers shifted uncomfortably at the notion of what they'd gotten involved in. Commissioner Phillips scratched his balding head with a heavy sigh, making eye contact with the Autobot for the first time... and awkwardly.

"You can address me, I'm a person too, you know," he grumbled from where he was situated in a pile of himself against the wall.

"Alright uh, Mister, uhm... Hound," he started. He seemed to be unnerved by the Jeep's glowing (glowering?) optic, and quite possibly at the gruesome damage sustained to his facial dermaplating. "Could you please describe what Ms. Schneider looks like as best you can."

Hound yanked out a holo recording of her in one of her happier moments, one where she was standing and smiling at him.

The officers let out startled yelps at the sudden appearance of their victim right in front of them. He continued, ignoring their astonishment. "A bullet ricocheted off me at some point and hit her in the arm. Somewhere around here." He highlighted the bicep of Astrid's hologram. One of the detective cops was quickly scrawling notes on a pad before pulling out a small camera.

"You mind if I...?"

"Go ahead. It reproduces like the real thing."

In the middle of the photo shoot that was eerily reminiscent of a Twilight Zone episode, Hound received a note from Jazz, letting him know that they'd been dropped by Skyfire and were currently 15 miles out.

His spark grew a little more excited in its chamber, causing him to get restless and frustrated. He wanted to go, and he wanted to go _now._

_Hurry up, guys..._

"Does she know anyone in the area? Anyone that might have a grudge?"

Hound felt like shaking his head, biting back a growl of frustration when he remembered that he couldn't. "Ask him," he instead said, shifting his gaze to Agent Doley. "He seems to have an idea of who took her. Or at least _why_."

"She was the closest person to the core of the project that wasn't protected. They either want information, or they want money. It's not a random crime, I can guarantee you that."

Phillips turned back to Hound, as though waiting for corroboration.

"He's right. They want something in specific, we just don't know what it is yet. But if money is what they want, we probably would have gotten a ransom by now."

"What was the make and model of the assailant's vehicle? Do you remember?"

"White, unmarked van. Uh... I don't remember more than that, and my feeds are messed up from the gunshots. There was no side door, though. Just two back ones and no rear window. Like a catering van."

"Okay, and do you remember what they looked like?"

Hound pulled out a fuzzy image of the three of them wrestling with Astrid, right before he was shot, and projected it onto the ground. There were 3 men among them; one was young, possibly in his late 20's, the other was older... grizzled, like a veteran of some war, possibly in his 50's. The third, the one with the gun and the one that had seen past Hound's hologram and had actually done the abducting, was harder to place. He looked both young and old. Was he 30 or was he 60? Hound could make out some muscle definition on his memory tracks, but little else seemed defining enough to grasp.

"Sorry that it's a bit difficult to read, but that's all I can remember."

"You mind if I get a picture of this?"

"Go ahead."

_Where in the heck were they? C'mon..._

"Thanks a lot, this is really going to help us."

"Good."

"Is there anything else you can remember, Hound? _Anything_ you think can help this investigation."

Hound thought good and hard, and did remember something. "They were shouting things at me as they were taking her away... like I was putting her in danger, and something about her family." He searched and searched the memory files, but he sadly couldn't come up with anything more detailed than that.

"Interesting," the detective murmured. "Agent Doley, I think we should handle communication with her relatives, if you don't mind."

"Of course. If you think they'd have any information, please do so."

"Well," said the commissioner upon seeing the detective put his notes away. "I think this is all we can get out of this trip. We're going to need to get back to the precinct and start making phone calls. If we need anything more, we can...?"

"Oh yeah, he's not going anywhere," Doley reassured.

"Alright..."

Phillips looked over his shoulder at the Jeep laying on the ground in a pathetic heap, and his eyes seemed sad, almost.

"Well, thanks for all your help, Hound, it was a pleasure meetin' you."

"You find her, you hear?"

"I'm afraid the only thing we can promise is to do our best, Mister-"

"That's not good enough."

Doley rounded them up then and started ushering them out, speaking to them in hushed tones that Hound didn't care to eavesdrop on. It was a few minutes in between then and when the BREME agent returned, looking like he was ready to pack up and head home for the night. Doley went over to the two agents at the computer consoles across from Hound, stretching. "You boys good for the night?"

One of them turned around to look at him. "You'll be in at 7 right?"

"7 sharp. Schedule to have a technician come in to fix his face tomorrow, would you? I'm sick of looking at it."

"Alright. Have a good night, Doley. Oh and you mind taking a peek around to the south side of the building? It looks like a couple of cars just pulled up."

Hound's face brightened a small amountat the mention. "They're here!" he exclaimed quietly.

"Probably some fuckin' kids, but... hey! _What?_ _Autobots?_"

Even without hearing them react to the security feed, he knew they'd transformed. He could feel them walking up to the big gate, and...

_Kong, kong, konggg..._

...yep, knock on the door.

"What in the _hell_ is going on here? Nobody else is scheduled to be in the area." Doley whipped around to stare daggers at Hound, who just stared right back. "You and I are going to have a _word_ later," he snarled, walking over to the big, automatic doors to let them in. The Jeep saw out of the corner of his eye the two pencil pushers stand up to provide a little support for Agent D in the face of what Hound was soon able to count as five bots. Primus... five Autobots? After the initial gut reaction of "is this overkill?", he was absolutely thrilled.

"Trick or treat," Trailbreaker announced with that slag-eating grin of his as soon as the door was fully open.

"Glad you finally got here," Hound said, interrupting whatever it was that Doley has planned on saying.

The black mech was alarmed the most. "Vector Sigma!" he exclaimed upon seeing Hound against the wall. "What happened to you?"

Beachcomber, Cliffjumper, and Skids all followed him inside to crowd around Hound. Jazz remained where he was, arms folded across his car-hood chest, his expression hard.

"I'm alright, but I can't move until he gives me the OK."

"What'd you do to him?" Jazz asked calmly. Hound caught a faint flash of something from behind the specialist's visor.

"He was getting out of control, and was about ready to bust into town on a sprint if I hadn't stopped him. He's _very_ emotionally compromised right now."

"You didn't answer my question."

All the bots were quiet now, watching the scene between the black-suited men and Jazz unfold.

Doley puffed up a bit; if it were anyone else, one might have laughed at the idea of a human trying to intimidate a giant robot, but BREME agents were a different breed of human, it seemed. "I don't have to," he said simply. "And you know that. What are you all doing here?"

If Jazz flinched in any way, Hound didn't catch it.

"Hound notified us of a situation, and we saw it fit to intervene. How long has he been in that condition?"

"Three hours."

"How long were you going to let him stay that way?"

"Until tomorrow. What is this about?"

"That violates code 34-1E of the Groom Lake Pact. Withholding medical care and treatment of an Autobot in critical condition allows us to take custody. So we're here to take him with us."

"It's a blown optical socket! There's nothing "critical" about it."

Jazz turned to the blue off-roader. "Beachcomber?"

"I'm afraid that some of the most bangin' core fluid corridors that like, go runnin' through a mech's noggin' go right up behind those cats in order to feed energy to all of those sensors, you dig? There's a whole lotta everything going on up in there that could have gotten the ugly stick... stuff that he doesn't even know himself, you know."

Wait, what? Core fluid cables didn't run up behind the optics... they were usually closer to the back of the head, where they'd be safer underneath that thick armor plating back... oh, right. Hound noticed what they were doing.

"So you're going to take him? What, where? Back to Portland? Right _now?_ I'm sorry, but no. He's staying here. We have an investigation to complete, and he's needed for that."

"You want him here for another reason, don't you?" Jazz asked cautiously, tilting his head to the side.

"What we're doing here is none of your business, I'm afraid. You and your friends are dismissed, Jazz. Thank you for expressing interest in the well-being of your comrade, but if you miss him so much, you'll have better luck petitioning for a transfer with HQ. BREME doesn't appreciate surprises and, as Hound over here is learning, insubordination."

Jazz didn't move; just stood there silently, sizing Doley up.

_What are you doing?_ Hound managed to hiss over a commlink. He didn't receive a reply.

Instead, with arms still folded, he turned to the group surrounding the Jeep, and nodded. "Grab him," he ordered curtly.

Without a moment's hesitation, the four Autobots proceeded to stoop down and figure out how to best carry Hound's dead weight. "Wh..."

"Ow!" Suddenly, one by one, the four of them spasmed and crumpled up beside him. Cliffjumper was the last to fall, allowing Hound to catch a glimpse of Doley, aiming his strange weapon at where they'd once stood. But it was only for an instant, because Jazz had closed the distance between he and the BREME agent and grabbed him, lifting him into the air.

"What in the heck is this?" Skids grunted.

"I can't move!"

"It's the same thing he used on me earlier," Hound explained, straining to see with his one good optic what was going on on the other side of the room.

"I _order_ you to put me down!" Doley shouted, writhing miserably in the Porche's unrelenting grasp. "Cook! Moreno! Get HQ on the horn, now!"

The remaining two agents, not quite sure what to do, started to run off. Hound suddenly had the urge to prevent them from doing so.

He activated his hologram right in front of them, and with a swift burst of energy, gave one a good blow to the nose. He might have heart a crack, and possibly had blood on his human fingers, but there was no time to react as the other instinctively attempted a tackle, and instead collided with nothing but air and solid ground. Hard. Hound materialized some cord, and proceeded to tie the two of them together by the wrists on the ground. The scene had used up a good portion of his energy stores already, and with a tired smile, his holo was deactivated.

"Wow, Hound! I haven't seen you do anything like that in ages!"

"What? What'd he do? I couldn't see!"

"Sure showed them a good time. Dag..."

Hound ignored them and shouted to Jazz. "Get the little remote device he's got! It can disable this thing on all of us!"

"Well?" said the Porche.

Doley shook his head. "You six are going to be in a world of hurt in no time."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard that one before," Jazz quipped. "Now hand it over."

"Dealing with humans is so much nicer," the agent growled as he was set down. Jazz had the tiny, silver thing in his enormous fingers. He studied it for a moment before the tip of one of his digits opened up to reveal a delicate manipulator that much more comfortably grasped the remote. In no time he figured out the configuration, and had disabled the immobilizer on all of the Autobots.

The four mechs clamored about each other as they stood up again, rubbing at their joints and the various places in their helmets where the mysterious bullet-shaped things had embedded themselves. Hound was the last to make it onto this feet, with Trailbreaker's help. Jazz came over to closely examine Hound's face; after a few moments of peeking around, he shook his head and stepped back.

"Can you wait to get that fixed?"

Hound's hands balled themselves into fists as he looked at Jazz with determination in his ruined facial plating. "I'm not fixing anything until we find her," he said firmly. The idea of having one optic for the rest of his life crossed his fore-processors for a fraction of a second, but he buried the thought. No, he'd find her.

Jazz nodded slowly, then looked to the rest of the group. "Let's get those things out of your heads," he said, and crushed the tiny remote in his hand, letting the little bits fall to the ground. One by one he reached into the miniscule holes with the spindly and dextrous manipulator and pulled out the devices, crushing each one under his foot. Hound saw Doley on the phone out of the corner of his good eye.

"We should go," he suggested, rubbing at the back of his head. "I don't think we don't have much time."

The bots agreed, and started to make their way out. Trailbreaker and Beachcomber walked beside Hound as they exited the warehouse. It was starting to rain again, and the drops made little _plink plink plink_ sounds as they hit their armor.

Jazz transformed on the edge of the dock, his vehicle mode a sleek white; pale, like a ghost in the overcast darkness. "Let's go find your girlfriend."

Hound stiffened and looked off to the side. His core suddenly ran a littler hotter. "She's not..."

"It's okay, buddy. We all know."

His spark was shrinking in mass and getting hotter. "Y-you... told them?" Hound took a partial step back, feeling the weight of grave embarrassment settle upon him. His single optic remained fixed on Jazz, for fear of making eye contact with the others. But his shoulder seemingly backed into a hand that he quickly discovered belonged to Trailbreaker. With trepidation, the Jeep turned his mononocular vision upon the black mech.

"We came because we care about you, you crazy slagger," he said.

"Really? I just came because I wanted to kick in some buildings," winked Cliffjumper. Hound chuckled, breaking the temporary tenseness.

"Alright," Hound said, his voice aiming for resoluteness and strength, but just falling short. He knew conviction would come in time. "Let's go get her."

* * *

><p><em>*Written shorthand in place of cybertronian datastring names.<em>


	7. Sympathy for the Devil

_So... this story was getting so confusing that I had to create what was basically a data flow diagram in order to keep all of the different motivations, parties, and sub-plots in order. I may or may not even use them all, and I may or may not be coming up with more; we'll see. I still have zero clue as to how this is story is going to end. At least I know how it's going to get there._

_As for the art, all I could think up was making a booru, lol. So it's hiker dot booru dot org. Nothing there right now, but I do have once illustration completed.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>August 5th: almost two months ago.<em>

The weekend had not gone well, Carrie decided as she and Scott drove up to their little suburban house on the outskirts of Oakland. A fall breeze nipped at their exposed skin when they got out of the car and unloaded their bags.

Two dogs, a chocolate lab and a corgi/terrier mix, came bounding up to them at the door, but the happiness at being greeted after the trip was temporary.

"She's really worrying me," Carrie said, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, and staring into space as Scott pulled a diet coke out of the fridge and went to go check messages on the machine. The dogs were sniffing at the luggage in the entryway with gross fascination.

"She's a basket case, I'll tell you that much," her husband noted casually.

Carrie stiffened up and shot him a look. "She is _not_," she reprimanded. "You have no idea what she's been through this past year, Scott. I can't believe you just said that."

"What?" he shrugged. "She very clearly has issues and very clearly needs help. What else do you want?"

"A little god damn compassion for your sister-in-law? Poor thing hasn't been able to afford therapy, and I know she needs it."

"She could afford her medical expenses and physical therapy. I wouldn't exactly call her "poor"."

"She was reimbursed for that by this agency, she told me. They won't pay for mental health costs, though. Lord knows why."

"I'll tell you why," Scott said, setting down his can on the white-tiled counter. "They don't want her blabbing to a shrink, is why. Can't take the risk."

"You're full of accusations tonight, aren't you? Why in the heck wouldn't they want her talking to a therapist?"

"You remember that website I showed you?"

Carrie groaned. "Not this again..."

"No, I'm being dead serious," Scott asserted. "You remember the website?"

"Yes, I remember the website."

"It's all the same shit, Carrie. It's all the same shit. She's been targeted for some reason... I don't know why, but they knew she was weak, and they targeted her for this. Maybe... maybe she saw something up there in those mountains that she wasn't supposed to see, and they tried to kill her off."

"Scott."

"Maybe she stumbled upon something big, and they couldn't risk her telling anyone. Disappearing her would have been too risky, so they did something to give her PTSD so she wouldn't remember, and wouldn't tell, and they don't want her talking to a head doctor in case he undoes all of her conditioning and she spills."

"This is one big joke to you, isn't it?"

"Look, Carrie, I love Astrid. I care about her as much as you do, but she is neck-deep in some heavy stuff, and you don't want to see it."

"No, I just want to help her, and coming up with a bunch of conspiracies isn't going to do that."

"I want to help her too!" he exclaimed, flipping on the kitchen lights proper so they could better discuss the situation. "And I know how worried you are, sweetie. But this isn't just an early mid-life crisis for her. In order to be able to help, we gotta see the big picture."

Carried was silent. Scott put his hands on her folded arms in a reassuring gesture.

"We're not alone in this, you know. There are people we can go to."

"What do you mean?"

"There are people that know all about what she wouldn't tell us. Maybe we could go to them to find out more?"

She made an uneasy face and looked him in the eye. "I don't want to do anything illegal, Scott, if that's what you're implying."

"_Illegal? _No, no, no, no. I'm just talking about civilian watchdog groups; you know, federally-recognized NPOs. They just have people that are passionate enough about this sort of thing that they spend their time researching and combing declassified documents, sending FOIA requests, reading up on historical accounts and all that sort of thing. It's all totally legit; I just thought that they would have resources that aren't currently available to us, you know? They'd be more _knowledgeable _about the situation."

"Non-profits, huh?"

"All they want is to know the truth about what's going on. Just like us."

Carrie looked down at the smaller dog, which had come over to sit beside her feet. She looked up at her owner and wagged her tail a little.

"Here, I can show you their website," he went on, pulling his iphone out to pull up the site.

His wife shook her head and stepped away from the counter. "Not right now, Scott. I want a shower and a good night's rest. Show me in the morning."

"Alright," he conceded. "You'll think about it though, will you?"

"Are you kidding? It's _all_ I can think about. Night, honey." She paused. "Oh. Make sure the dogs have food and water before you come to bed?"

Scott nodded, preoccupied with something on his phone.

–

"MUFON?" Carrie sounded out, looking over Scott's shoulder with a cup of coffee in her hands as he pulled up the organization's website in his home office. "What do they do exactly? This isn't the website I remember you showing me."

"No, this is a different group. They're a... UFO network. The most well-regarded one, at least."

"UFOs? We're dealing with robots, not little green men in flying saucers."

"I think they'd be interested in our problem and will be willing to help us anyway."

"But they're not _aliens_, Scott."

He shook his head. "There are enough rumors going around to merit piquing their interest, I'd wager."

Carried sighed. "Remind me again how they're going to help Astrid?"

"All we're going to ask them for is information. That's it. Just so we know what she's gotten herself into so we can help her."

There was a long silence as Carrie paced back and forth across the carpet behind him, nervously clutching her coffee to warm her suddenly clammy hands. At length she stopped. "How do we contact them?"

Scott whirled back around in his office chair, clicking away at the website. "Well, here's the Northern California chapter organizers' email addresses. I guess I just send them an email."

"And if they don't reply?"

"Let me shoot off a note and we'll take it from there, okay?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just really anxious about this whole thing."

"It's going to be alright. We'll help your sister out of this mess."

"Let me know how it goes when I get home?" she said, gulping down the last of her coffee. "I've got to get going or I'm going to be late for work."

"Will do. Love you," he called when she hurried out of the room.

"Love you, too!"

–

_Four days later, that following Saturday night._

The pub was riotously loud, filled almost to the hilt with bodies. Somehow the dark, awkwardly-lit space seemed appropriate for the meeting. It felt as though they were doing something dangerous.

"Keep an eye out for a guy in a UC Berkeley sweater."

"There he is, in the corner over there."

And lo, there he was, sitting next to a younger man at a far corner table, sharing a couple beers between them. Scott and Carrie wove their way through the crowd and finally approached the pair.

"You must be Rob?" Scott said, leaning in a little so as to be heard.

"And you must be Scott and Carrie?" inquired the man, who probably in his early forties. He stood up and stuck his hand out for a shake. "Nice to meet you. This is my colleague and fellow investigator, Andrew," he introduced. The younger man, Andrew, stood up to shake their hands as well before they all settled down. "Would you like to order something before we get started?"

"Oh no thank you. I'm not a big drinker," Scott insisted as he took off his jacket and hung it on the chair. A waitress approached them just then with a big smile on her face.

"I think I'm going to have a bloody mary," Carried announced, looking at the waitress. "Something tells me I'm going to need one."

"Anything else?"

Rob shook his head and waited for her to disappear before speaking again. "I figure the best way to go about this is to just dive right in," he said, talking a little softer so as not to risk being overheard. "Now Scott, in your emails you said this pertained to someone you knew. Can you elaborate a little?"

"She's my sister," Carrie cut in. "She had a little accident earlier this year... she was hiking alone up near Lake Tahoe and got caught beneath some fallen rocks and was stuck for several days, I don't know if you heard about that?"

The waitress returned with Carrie's drink.

Rob shook his head, but Andrew perked up. "I think I remember something like that from a few months ago?"

Carrie nodded. "Well, that's when all of this started..."

"Alright. You mentioned that she's gotten sucked into some kind of government work now, correct? And that she claims to be "friends" with some kind of secret technology that the have her working with. Have you noticed any major differences in her behavioral patterns between now and before the accident?"

"She was so down to earth before... practical, straightforward, laid-back. Now she's completely delusional and refuses to see what's right in front of her."

"It's entirely possible that she's been brainwashed to some extent," Andrew offered. "It sounds like it could be a cover-up if you ask me."

"You know about Operation Monarch?" asked Rob. The words meant nothing to Carrie, but Scott didn't miss a beat.

"I don't think this is like that—"

"Could be techniques being used for a slightly different purpose."

Scott shook his head.

"What kind of technology are you talking about exactly? Black project stuff?"

"It may be, I just don't know. That's why I came to you."

"What do you know about Autobots?" Carrie asked.

The two MUFON investigators looked at each other for a moment. Rob cleared his throat and finished off his beer. "You know what the unofficial MUFON policy is on transformers? Stick to grays, because the robots are bad news."

Carrie's heart sunk. "No, no, no, you have to help us."

"Look; UFOs, abductions... all the Hollywood crap you're used to seeing: that's what we do. They're safer because no one's come out to announce them publicly, as backwards as that may sound. Transformers is deep water, I'm afraid, and whoever over at the CIA and Pentagon is in charge of all that is dangerous."

"Why do you call them transformers?"

"What? They transform. Well, most of the time. That's our trade name for them, so to speak. You've got your grays, nordics, reptilians... and then you've got your transformers. Whole different ballgame with them."

"What do you mean?" Carried asked cautiously.

Andrew spoke up. "You remember that movie, Men In Black?" She and Scott nodded. "Well, that was based on a real phenomenon. For many years the UFO community had interactions with them if they'd been a witness to an event or had an experience. They'd show up out of nowhere and threaten people into silence, basically. Well, since the early 90's, folks have noticed a bit of a drop-off in their activity."

"Ever since the Autobots were announced to the world, huh."

"Exactly."

"W-what does that mean?" Carrie asked, looking from her husband to the two MUFON investigators.

Rob pressed his lips together in a tight line. "We've got theories circulating about, but no hard evidence pointing to anything. The only coincidence is the decline of reported MIB harassment happening around the same time as the announcement. Well, and the movie."

"One of the prevailing ideas is that it has to do with the release of the movie itself," Andrew explained. "Some think that the popularization if the phenomenon created an environment that made it difficult for real experiences to be acknowledged as legitimate. Not that they didn't have trouble with that back in the 60's and 70's," he said with a sad chuckle.

Rob continued. "There are other explanations floating about too, of course. Things involving demons, or time-travel and what-have-you."

"...but nothing to do with robots," added Scott flatly.

"We've got nothing but theories," Rob conceded, leaning back in the booth seat.

"Have you got one that's useful for us, then?"

"Depends on your definition of 'useful'."

"Alright, let's leave grays, lizards, annunaki, time-travel, religion, and all of that bullshit out of it. What do we have left."

"Propaganda."

"What?"

"Slow and subtle mind control. Quiet game-changers. The shifting of the national consciousness like tectonic plates, as surely as they are massive, to achieve their aims."

Carrie looked at him with a little suspicion. "Their aims being, what?"

"To present fact as fiction. You know all that masonic and illuminati stuff the guy that runs that Vigilant Citizen site goes on about? Claiming that evil occult symbolism has completely saturated our culture and nobody knows or cares? It's that sort of thing. Putting secret things into plain view so they'll only rouse _unreasonable_ suspicion."

"I don't follow," Carrie said meekly, finally taking a first sip of her drink.

"There are wider implications for just about everything that happens," explained Rob patiently. "Practically nothing happens in a vacuum."

"The chain of events that have gotten a hold of your sister is a symptom of something," Andrew offered. "Maybe personal, maybe political, but probably both."

"Well, what do we _do_ about it, then_?_"

"Do you guys have anyleads? Any information at all you could give us to help? We're at our wits end here, you've gotta understand," Scott plead.

Rob sniffed dramatically and looked away, grasping the empty bottle before him and lightly tapping the glass on the table.

"There is one group," he said at length. There was another long pause here. "And I hesitate to say that MUFON endorses them? Because we don't... but sometimes some of us work with them out of necessity."

"Okay..?"

Rob adjusted his sitting position to reach into his back pocket to pull out a scrap of paper. In his jacket breast pocket there was a pencil. He began to write. "They're called EDW, and like I said, we don't endorse everything they do. However, they are crazy enough to try and tackle the transformer conspiracy." He slid the slip of paper across the table toward Carrie. "Still haven't decided if they're brave or just plain stupid."

The paper read:

_Earth Defense Watch_

_Lori: 602-555-0127_

Carrie stared at the scrawl for a long while before putting it away in her purse. "What are transformers?" she asked.

"Nobody really knows," Rob shrugged. "Robots. I've got a few newspaper clippings from the late 80's talking about some new technology that the military was working on, but most of it, whatever it is, is still classified stuff. Whatever tidbits of information we could get our hands on, though, turned out to be dead ends. Nothing in the peer-reviewed journals about any of it, that's for sure. You know ASIMO?"

Carrie wasn't particularly familiar with it, but she'd heard the name. Scott nodded his head.

"Honda was commissioned by the Japanese to try and replicate the transformer technology, and as you can see, they've got miles to go," he chuckled darkly. "It's cute, though, and the public loves it. You'll notice that the robots don't make public appearances like that."

"No, no they don't..." Scott's voice trailed off.

"Say, do you have any pictures of this thing?" Andrew butt in.

"She sent me one," Carrie said, and began rifling through her purse for her phone. A few seconds of going through the photo album before she held it out for Andrew to see, careful to not let anyone else in the pub get a glance.

It was a picture of Astrid and that "Hound" thing out in the wilderness somewhere. Who was taking the picture was something she didn't know.

"It's big," she murmured, barely audible above the noise. "I don't like it. One wrong step and she's in the hospital again."

"Can I zoom in?" Rob was leaning over to get a better look now.

"It's a decent resolution."

"Wow," muttered Rob. "Look at all that stuff going on in there. My god, let me get a closer look at the face. That's so odd..."

"What is?"

"It looks strangely human, is all."

"Take a look at the arm joint... look at all that," Andrew gasped, his eyes fixed on the luminescent screen. "That cabling has to be, what... an inch or two thick at least?"

"If you look closely, you can see it's a kind of socket joint, I think. And see that plating on the top there covering the gap? It looks like it connects over there and slides with the movement of the arm for optimal rotation. Man, whatever these things are, they were meticulously designed."

Carrie was given her phone back.

"So that's it?" asked Scott. "We just call this person up and tell them the situation? What are they going to do?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself, but they'll sure as hell be able to help you more than us." Rob lifted up his arm and waved down the waitress. "Can we get the bill?" Scott went to reach for his wallet, but Rob shook his head and slapped down his card first. "This is on me. Trust me, you'll need another one later."

–

"You do it." Carrie pushed the phone and the piece of paper, which had been sitting in her purse for several days, and then taken out and set beside the phone in the kitchen and left undisturbed for another week, at her husband.

She'd looked at that phone number several times a day since it was given to her; every time she did her hands grew a little cold and clammy, whereupon she would turn away and put it out of her mind for a few hours more. Unfortunately, it was getting to the point where something had to be done. Either she needed to follow through, or fall back to the side as a voyeur, watching as Astrid continued to dig her own grave.

Their parents had no idea what she and Scott had been thinking. They would call occasionally to ask if she'd spoken to her lately, as communication since the move was sporadic at best. What was once twice a week was now twice a month, and little of any real consequence was exchanged during the calls.

Scott awkwardly took the phone and looked at her for a long time without saying a word before looking down to dial. He brought the phone up to his ear and the two of them waited. Carrie was sweating bullets, and she was sure that Scott wasn't faring much better either.

After what seemed like forever: "Hello? Hi, is this Lori? Hi, my name is Scott Graham and I was told to give you a call about a little problem going on in the family. A problem that you are best suited to tackle?"

Carrie heard a voice on the other end, but she couldn't make anything out.

"Well, the leader from the Nor Cal MUFON chapter directed me to you after meeting me and my wife about two weeks ago. And the problem is that... well, my sister-in-law is involved in _transformers_, I guess... yes, the giant robots. Look is there any way for us to be able to meet face to face to talk about... oh, I see. You're in Arizona. Alright... Mhm. Yes."

Carrie's hands were ice.

"The problem started earlier this year, during the spring. She was out hiking and got stranded for a few days; claims to have been rescued by one, and subsequently maintained a friendship with it over the following months. No, no history of mental illness. We actually have a picture of her with the thing, so we know its real... uh huh. Right. No, of course. No, we haven't noticed anything suspicious around here?" Scott looked at Carrie to confirm this via eye contact. "None of the immediate family either. We're mostly just worried about her mental health now, as well as her safety... How? Well, the other big thing is that she's been recruited to work on a hush-hush mining operation outside of Anchorage. Who? She said Fish and Wildlife, but I'm not sure. She's keeping a lot from us.

"Oh, let's see... well, she doesn't appear to be interested in making any new friends or having any sort of support system outside of her work up there. She's also grown irritable and defensive, especially when it comes to this robot machine she's working with. I got the feeling that she was obsessing over this thing and personifying it to a destructive degree. And it just seems like she's turned into a completely different person, too. No, she appears to be more or less healthy... eating, getting enough sleep. But otherwise, yes, the symptoms seem pretty classic."

There was a lot of talking going on the other end, now, interspersed with Scott nodding his head and making agreeable noises while staring out the window.

"Oh, really? Wow, thank you so much. No, no, I think that's the best plan we've got. Would you like me to give you my cell number so you can-? Oh, oh, okay. Just give me a second here..."

Scott scrambled around in the junk drawer for a pen and paper.

"Alright. Uh huh... uh huh... yeah... okay. So that's "LWorthEDW at gmail dot com", right? Okay. Wow, we really can't thank you enough, Lori. Yes, of course. We'll be in touch. Alright, thanks. Buh-bye."

Click.

There was a long silence.

"She... said she could probably help us."

Carrie realized that she'd been holding her breath. "Did she s-say how?"

"She says that the situation is... something she hasn't encountered yet, and thinks that our only option for getting Astrid out is to sabotage her employment."

"_What?_" Carrie blurted out. "The plan is to get her _fired?_"

"What else did you have in mind, Carrie?" Scott threw his arms up in the air.

Her hand went to the side of her face and her eyes fell to the floor. "I... I don't know. I just want her out of there. She doesn't know what she's doing, and she's putting herself in all sorts of danger. I... can't think up anything else. If we try to talk to her more about it, she'll withdraw even more." She paused to take a deep breath. "Is this legal, Scott? Can we get thrown in jail for this?"

"We still have to hammer out the details over email, but don't worry. I'll make sure that everything we're doing is clean, got it?"

"I want to be involved every step of the way."

"Don't worry, hon. You will."

"So... what else did she say?"

"She said that she had a member in the area that was particularly knowledgeable about these things and their cover-up, so she would be talking to him about it. She seemed very... confident in the plan."

"God, I hope so. I hope that woman knows what she's getting us into..."

–

The cave, located about 100 miles west of Yellowknife in Canada's Northern Territories, was cold, dark, and dank. And appropriate, considering its inhabitants of the past 20 years. In a part of the cavern, a small gallery broken off from another small gallery several levels below the main base of operations, sat a small, vaguely avian figure, hunched over some kind of Frankenstein communications unit, listening intently.

His once bluish armor glistened in the darkness of the storage room, a wild grin forming on his beak-like face plates, optic sensors glowing a subtle red. Their intensity grew with every word he processed.

"Excellent," was the very faint reply; it still caused some echoing, but no more than the very heavy footsteps of another blue mech that had just squeezed into the storage antechamber. "I will relay the message immediately. I'm sure he will be very pleased..."

_Will I?_ came the voice in the smaller one's head.

The grotesque bird-like robot stumbled toward the larger, his attempt at humility botched by his excitement.

_Commander Soundwave! You wouldn't believe it, but we officially have an "in" with the mining operation! And a very low-profile one at that!_

The larger mech, Soundwave, couldn't be read from behind the visor and face guard, but his optics did glint faintly, giving the diminutive robot the sense of accomplishment he was looking for.

_Inform the others that there has been a change in plans. Starscream and his ilk must not find out, however. It wouldn't be a swift death for you._

_Yes, sir! Of course, sir. As always._

_Good. Now tell me of this new target. And make it quick: we must not be down here for long._


	8. Hotel California

_Writing this... drained me more than anything else I've written in a long time, I think. Yeesh.  
><em>

**A.**

Astrid became conscious a few minutes before she could open her eyes. It wasn't that she didn't have the energy to, or couldn't by way of some external force, but that it just didn't occur to her to do so. She also had no idea that she was laying down in a bed until she moved; her skin was tingling so much that she couldn't feel the sheets while still. At length, she opened her eyes, and blinked a few times in order to be able to see straight.

It was a room alright, and a bed, but the walls felt like they were undulating. She stared at the one beyond the foot of the twin bedframe just to make sure that it was solid. It took a few minutes, but she was able to determine that it was, in fact, solid. But it still insisted on wobbling about slowly. Astrid went to sit up and look for a clock to see what time it was, but only when she lifted her head did the nauseating dizziness settle in and she was able to put some pieces together. Her warm, tingling skin, her bleary eyes and jittery thoughts... she'd been heavily medicated at some point a few hours ago, and likely on an empty stomach as well.

Looking around from her vantage point on the dingy, bare pillow, it also dawned on her that she'd never been in this room before in her life.

And then it all came back.

A sudden panicked anguish came over her, but it was vague and sluggish. Her right arm, she realized, was tied to a heavy eyelet bolt in the center of the ceiling with sturdy rope. The slack was just enough to let her go about most of the room, but she wouldn't be able to touch the floor with that arm. She struggled against it a little; clearly it was going to be of no use.

Astrid then attempted to sit up again, trying to power through the sudden inability to think or see clearly, but that too, was of little use. She's have to wait for it to work through her system. She flopped back to the pillow and looked over her arm. A crude bandage was wound about the wound, but red still seeped through, and even hours after she was dealt the injury it bled... oddly, though, the limb was rather numb. She fought against the numbness and with considerable effort, she brought her left hand to her face, flexing the stiff fingers, to find that the skin was cold. Astrid let it drop back beside her.

"Shit," she muttered, eyes darting around the sparse room.

Did anyone know where she was? How long had she been out for? Was there any way that she could get herself out of here? Willing herself to see past the dizziness, she took stock of what the room consisted of. There was the bed: mattress, sheet, pillow, and frame; an old, dirty rug, a cheap plastic patio chair in the corner, a cardboard box serving as a nightstand, a floor lamp with no shade, and a curtain on the single window. Interestingly enough, there were two doors on opposite walls; both were outfitted with deadbolts, though the one beyond the foot of the bed had _two_ of them.

_That one's gotta lead outside,_ she found herself concluding. Perhaps this was a mud-room of sorts.

The multitude of scuff marks on the linoleum floor told her that the space had been full of other furniture at one point as well, and repurposed rather hastily. A greasy hand print along the edge of the far door caught her eye as well... was someone here a mechanic? The closer one had a peep-hole installed, like the front door of a house.

Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was that she had to use the restroom, or maybe it was because she was just plain stupid; but after a moment of thought she decided to find out if there was anyone else on the premises or not.

"_HELLO?_" she attempted to bellow. It came out a little weaker than she would have liked, but it would do. "_HELLO! IS ANYONE HERE? CAN SOMEBODY HELP ME? I NEED A DOCTOR!_"

If she was lucky, maybe a neighbor would hear her and get curious?

"_HELP! I NEED HELP!_"

Astrid didn't like how her voice sounded in that room. It was too cold and too clear, like shouting out over an ice field with a storm on the horizon.

Her heart felt like it leapt out of her mouth and landed on her stomach with a heavy, wet, _splat_ when she heard the deadbolt of the door beside the bed unlock itself.

A woman appeared, with a paper plate in her hand. She wore a black spandex hood that covered every inch of her face, which Astrid was quite disturbed by. With short breaths, she backed up against the wall as the plate, which had a peanut butter sandwich and a bruised apple on it, was set on the bed.

"What do you want from me?"

The woman regarded her silently; it was like looking at an animated corpse with its eyes pecked out. Astrid wanted her to go away.

"How long was I out for?"

"Eat," she said flatly, turning to go. "Colin will be joining you shortly." The door shut and locked behind her.

Astrid eye'd the sandwich and realized that the last time she'd eaten was lunch earlier that day... assuming, of course, that it wasn't Saturday yet. She reached for it with her bad arm, but when she grabbed hold of the thing, the wound started to ache. The pain-killers were wearing off.

It was bland, but at least filling. The apple was hardly any better; it was dry and starchy, like it'd been sitting in the sun too long. Eating was an unpleasant experience for several reasons, the first being that she had a horrible case of cottonmouth from whatever medication she'd been given. The second being the nausea and dizziness... Astrid was hoping that she could keep the meal down long enough to digest it.

Astrid lay there, roped hand resting on her forehead, trying to will her stomach into cooperation, when she heard the door again. She knew better than to rise quickly; that peanut butter sandwich would have wound up on the floor.

Her heart couldn't help but race, though. In walked a man, closing the door behind him, who had nothing covering his distinguishing features. If Astrid was disturbed before by the woman, this new character's self-assured confidence that it didn't matter whether or not she could point him out in a lineup downright scared her. She couldn't help but shrink back against the wall away from him. Her eyes fell on his arms, then, and she suddenly realized that she remembered them. They were the arms that grabbed her through Hound's hologram.

"Well, well, well," he said, pulling up the plastic chair from the corner of the room and making himself comfortable. "Looks like our guest is awake. You have a nice nap?"

"What did you give me," she stated cooly, trying not to let her racing heart disrupt her voice. Something about his presence told her that he knew just how fast her pulse was though. "And how long have I been out?"

"Relax, it wasn't anything a doctor wouldn't have given you anyways. And you've been asleep for a few hours... it's about midnight, actually."

Astrid just eyed him wildly, like a deer with its foot caught in a trap.

"Now let's get today off on the right foot."

"What do you want from me."

He smiled, his teeth a little too perfect. "I was just about to tell you..." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thick stack of paper, stapled in the corner and folded haphazardly in half lengthwise. He tossed it onto her belly.

Astrid's eyes passed over the document for only a second before she recognized it. "My contract..."

"Yes. So to put it bluntly: _you_ are going to tell _me_ what's being dug up there in the park, and in return, you will get your freedom."

"You let this arm fester for another few days and you're going to be interrogating a corpse, I guarantee you. I'll give you what you want if you get me to a hospital."

The man named Colin shook his head briskly. "No. There's no negotiating this. You will get treatment for every nugget of information you tell us. Hospital and freedom is your reward; and if you die in this room, then it's really no problem. We'll just take someone else that's more... forthcoming. The injury really wasn't intentional, you have to understand. You have your friend's metal face to thank for that."

"He's coming for me," Astrid said. "Hound is the Autobot's premier tracker; he could pinpoint a Rolex at the bottom of the Marianas Trench. He knows my pheromone signature and tracing it will be a piece of cake for him. And when he gets here with the police, there'll be hell to pay."

"_Nevermind him!_" Colin snapped. Astrid shut her mouth at the glimpse of his potential for violence. "Right now, you just worry about this." He pointed at the document. "And remember that the clock is ticking for you."

Astrid stared at the papers. "The truth is that I don't know anything."

Colin chuckled. "You're lying, I know you are."

"No really, they haven't told me anything. I'm almost just as much in the dark as you are."

He leapt up then, and threw the chair at the wall with incredible force. "_YOU'RE LYING TO ME!_" he boomed.

Astrid started to tremble when he approached her bedside.

"What do you know about the ship," he demanded.

The ship? What ship? "I-I don't know w-what you're talking about."

"How much _energon_ is on the _ship?_"

What? "No one told me a thing about a sh-ship."

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt," he announced abruptly, stepping away. "You're tired, hungry, scared, disoriented... I'll give you some time to wrack your memory. If you're not more cooperative tomorrow, then we'll just have to check that brain of yours for you."

She didn't know what that meant, but she didn't like the sound of it. Her train of thought was interrupted by a sharp pain in her arm, though. Looking down at the gauze, she saw a fresh stain was forming.

Colin's eyes went to her poorly treated wound as well. With a half-grunt, half-growl, he shoved his hand into another pocket to pull out a small orange container: a pharmaceutical bottle, missing its label. "Here," he muttered frustratingly, handing her two pills.

Astrid took them with her good, though restrained, arm. "What is it?"

"Vicodin."

"Is this what you gave me earlier?"

"No."

"I have to use the restroom. Can you untie me?"

"If it's liquid," he said, stepping over to the bed and reaching underneath with his boot, pulling out a sort of bed pan. "You use this. Now go to sleep; tomorrow's going to be a big day for you."

Then he was gone.

–

**H.**

9:42p.

_The night's still young_, Hound thought to himself in an attempt to calm down and focus. _Where to start... where to start..._

"What about the last place you saw her? Maybe we can pick up some clues over there," offered Skids.

Hound sighed. "I can track them on the dirt, but as soon as those tires hit pavement, nothing's left." He paused and searched the ground for inspiration. "I've got it!" he exclaimed, looking from one bot to the next. "The police station. That's where we should start."

"Why?"

"BREME outsourced the investigation to the local PD; couldn't be slagged to spare any resources to do it themselves."

"Whatever we do," Jazz chimed in, looking out over the black, glassy water of the bay. "We need to do it now. Feds are going to be all over this place in no time. I'm getting whiffs of their communications already."

"Do they know what we look like?" Trailbreaker looked a little worried.

Cliffjumper gave an electric scoff. "Who cares if they can spot us. Ain't no way they can take down 5 of us without some heavy guns, and no way are they going to turn this town into a warzone over their sense of pride."

"Maybe you're right," considered Jazz. "They don't have any public face to save, so they either do this covertly as BREME, or they do it..." he paused, not liking where the logic was going.

But Hound slowly finished for him. "They do it openly disguised as another agency."

They all looked at each other, and Jazz gave the order.

_Let's go. Now._

In half a second, six cars were barreling down the road headed for the police station.

_Just a reminder, but about a half-mile back the hologram binding the agents was deactivated by distance, so we should expect them to be running around and making calls now. Also, I don't know how much they have on file about any of you, but in any case it's safe to say that I'm the one they're going to be looking for._

With that, the Jeep executed a dermal mask; with a quick sweep of orange light across the surface of his paint job, he was no longer the rich olive green that his spark naturally emanated, but rather now an unassuming matte black. He'd be harder to spot in the dark.

_Nice shade, buddy. How are you doing with that optic of yours?_ Trailbreaker asked.

_It's the least of my worries right now._

Several minutes later, the five found themselves in the parking lot of the Anchorage Police HQ.

_Holos, everyone. And Hound, throw up something to keep up covered, would you?_

_Right_.

Hound projected out his driver just before casting a "net" above them all to be hidden from any possibly aerial traffic. He glanced about and saw the others' materialize on the sidewalk. Skids, Beachcomber, and Cliffjumper all had male holos, and Trailbreaker had a female that seemed to resemble Judy Dench, sharply dressed. Jazz's, on the other hand...

Hound sent him a private communique: _Is that...?_

_Yep. What can I say? Marissa was my good luck charm back in those crazy days._

The cowboy hat-wearing driver chuckled soundlessly before they all went in. It must have looked strange, seeing the group so choreographed and not speaking a word to each other. But Hound wasn't in the mood to care about that.

"Can I help you all...?" the deputy behind the desk looked up from a newspaper crossword puzzle, brows furrowed at the prospect of likely confusion. Hound didn't recognize him from earlier.

"We'd like to speak to Commissioner Phillips, please. It's urgent."

"About what, may I ask?" The cop looked a little uneasy.

"I spoke to him not 2 hours ago about a missing person case down at the docks. Please, you have to let him know we're here."

"Well, alright. I'll be back in a minute," he conceded, and got up from his chair, eying every single holo suspiciously before rounding the corner. He returned with the commissioner a few seconds later.

"What's all this about? I don't remember seeing any of you back at the briefing. What's going on here?" Phillips said gruffly.

Hound stepped over to a window that overlooked the parking lot and separated the blinds with his hand. "That's me out there," he said, pointing out to the Jeep parked outside. The commissioner approached, squinting with lack of understanding.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm Hound, that Autobot you met earlier. And these are some of my fellow soldiers, parked outside as well."

"Look," Jazz-as-Marissa interrupted. "This is pretty urgent. If you could take us to your office so we could talk about this case, that would help a lot."

Phillips nodded silently, quite dumbstruck. The poor deputy's face was scrunched up in what did prove to be confusion. "Follow me."

"I'll stay out here and keep my eyeballs peeled," Beachcomber offered before fizzling out to better focus his sensors elsewhere. The deputy gave a surprised shout when the hippie disappeared into thin air.

"D-did any of you see that! Commissioner! Did you-?"

But the rest of them were already gone, ushered away behind a closed door.

Hound spoke first. "First off, do you have any leads yet?"

"It's only been since about 8 since the report was filed. I've got one investigator checking leads right now, the other's running plates and numbers as we speak."

"_Anything?_"

"Okay, first off, you need to be patient. There's only so much we can do so quickly."

"Well, we're here to help," said Cliffjumper. "Put us to work."

Commissioner Phillips raised his bushy eyebrows. "You five? _How_?"

"Well for one, I can tell you right now that your... Officer Mendez in his office over there hasn't gotten a single hit with the credit card companies," Jazz said.

Phillips looked at them all under the harsh fluorescent lighting, sizing each one of them up. At length, he nodded. "Alright, you can help us. I'm not going to question the whys and wherefores right now, but I will be calling you in for questioning later." He pointed at Hound. "Now tell me how you all plan on helping, because I can't exactly see you lot putting up posters on telephone poles."

Hound stepped forward and placed his holo's hands flat on the table. "We can remotely access and process recorded media faster than anything you've got. Since we have no idea about the make and model of the vehicle or where it went, give us the authority to check security cameras, traffic cameras, ATM cameras, and the like around town."

"The judge wouldn't ever let that fly in court as evidence."

"Nevermind that. We'll worry about pressing charges after we find her. Just grant us this jurisdiction and we'll give everything we can find."

Phillips rubbed hard at his eyes. "The hell am I gonna do if I don't give it to you anyways. Don't have handcuffs big enough for you damn people."

"We're in big trouble as it is already," Trailbreaker said.

Jazz stepped up. "And that's the other thing you're going to have to do for us; if BREME agents come here looking for us, which they will, you need to tell them you never saw us."

"What? Lie to feds? You've got to be kidding me!"

"You have to! Tell them I held you at gunpoint," Hound said, voice raising a little. "Tell them anything you need to protect yourselves, just don't tell them where we went or what we're doing. They've got warrants out for our arrest already I'll wager, so it's just a matter of time before we get ours anyways. Just buy us time and let us help. That's all we're asking."

"If I find out that you've done _anything_ with malicious intent..."

"You have our word... and unfortunately, it's all we can give you."

Suddenly, Beachcomber's signature was in his head: _We've got helicopters comin' in hot, from the east. Agent Doley rang up Fort Richardson, looks like._

"Damn," his holo muttered. _We're just about done in here. Give us a few more seconds and we can get going._

"Well, good luck to you lot, then. I hope you're as good at this as you say."

–

**A.**

The Vicodin wasn't doing much. Her arm hurt like a sunnova bitch all the way down to the elbow, with tendrils of pain licking at her neck and down her side like the flames of a brushfire. It wouldn't be long before the bandage would be totally saturated with blood, and she doubted that the wound would get a redressing.

She tried to squeeze her hand, but anything tighter than the loosest of fists was nearly unbearable. Astrid let her arm fall limp at her side again, catching her breath after the moment of intense pain. She looked around again, eyes darting from one part of the room to another; it just occurred to her that she'd been sweating when she licked her upper lip and found it salty. A cold sweat.

"I've got to get out of here," she whispered to herself, trying to boost her sense of courage through the fog of terror and physical discomfort.

Unfortunately, her bladder couldn't wait any longer. Astrid tried sitting up again, gritting her teeth through the pain and willing the dizziness away. She wasn't about to piss herself out of fear.

It felt like she hadn't stood up in days; the room undulated around her like some kind of camera trickery. Astrid, having the distinct feeling that she was the unwitting star of a horror film, carefully and without tipping herself over, undid her pants and squatted over the plastic container. When she was done, she quickly flopped back down onto the bed to catch her breath. The room kept spinning.

After a few moments of gaining her composure again, she let her eyes wander and decided if there would be any way she'd be able to escape.

First and foremost, there was the rope. She gave it a small, but firm tug, testing the bolt in the ceiling as much as she could without making any noise. Unfortunately, it stayed firm. Then she tried seeing if she could squeeze her hand out through the loop, but it was too tight around her wrist. A closer look at the fiber was all she needed to recognize it as hemp...

Astrid looked around again, trying to formulate a plan. There was no way she would be able to leave the room without cutting the rope, so what else would she be able to do? She gathered her courage and fortitude, and stood up again, slowly making her way across the room on shaky legs, tiptoeing and keeping her eyes peeled on the door. Stopping in front of the window, she peeked around the dark curtain only to find the pane covered up by a piece of cardboard duct taped in place. Was there anything on the other side keeping her out? She wondered. Probably. From what she could tell of her indoor surroundings, this thing had been meticulously planned.

Who in the hell told them she knew anything?

Her parents? Her sister?

The family was involved somehow, but now was not the time to think that through. She could figure that out when she'd gotten out of this alive.

Every single noise she made sounded as loud as a jet engine to her ears, making her unsteady movements just that much more so.

What was a way that she could buy herself time? _Think, Astrid, think!_ She suddenly found herself trying to call upon 30 years worth of experience living in the world, hoping that even just one memory would clue her in, give her some idea on how to do this.

Birthday parties... a trip to the zoo as a small girl... a day at the beach... a roadtrip... jump-starting the VW bus just off of PCH? No... high school chemistry class! Surely there was something there she could use... Bunsen burners, molarity, electron shells... nope, nothing. Gardening? No... Cooking? No...

Her eyes darted around, settling on the lamp. Maybe she could try bludgeoning whoever came in next with it? Something told her that was a horrible idea, and that it ultimately wouldn't do her any good. Well, what else could she do with it, then? She could... she could bash in the window and yell for help, maybe?

_Bash in the window and yell for help._

Okay, okay, now there was something. Good, good. A place to start. Now to set that up.

A distraction?

Yeah, a distraction.

Some way for her to buy precious minutes between breaking the window and being apprehended and possibly seriously bodily injured or killed.

_Oh god, oh god... what am I thinking? I can't do this. It's too risky..._

Astrid winced at a surge of pain in her arm, and looked over to see the cloth was mostly red now.

_What are you going to do, just sit here and die? You escaped death once, and you're going to do it again, dammit. You can't give up yet. You have family and friends out there._

_You have... Hound._

It was true, she thought. She did have Hound. And he had her... but unless she did something soon, he wouldn't have her for long. Quite unexpectedly, the idea brought tears to her eyes. The sudden onset of intense emotion and despair over the possibility of her own demise here on his behalf was almost... unbearable.

_Do I... do I care that much?_

It occurred to her then that she wasn't doing this for her, or anybody else... except for him. She wasn't going to let herself die for no reason other than not wanting to go knowing that he was going to suffer. Was that...?

_No. Not now. _

Astrid wiped away the tears with her bound hand and swallowed hard.

_I've got to do this for him._

With that, she went back to the bed to come up with a plan.

–

**H.**

10:05p.

_Split up!_ sent Hound, as they all pulled out of the police station driveway.

_Skids, you search west of the highway, and Cliffjumper, you get east. _Jazz took over._ The rest of us will head up toward Eagle River. Scan ATMS, gas stations, traffic cams, whatever you can get your sensors on. You've got Hound's memory data- familiarize yourself with it, and let us know if you get any leads on vehicle matches or suspects, and especially if you run into trouble with feds. Those are your orders, now go!_

The Scion look-a-like and red Challenger sharply cut over to the highway off-ramp and disappeared as Hound, Trailbreaker, Beachcomber, and Jazz continued northward.

_I'm sure you're wondering why I were able to mobilize a team,_ Jazz sent. Hound recognized the signature as belonging to a private communication.

_Well, to be honest... yes._

_You know Decepticon activity has dropped off, right?_

_It was the only way any of us were able to get civilian posts, and mine with WSAR last year. You remember that._

_Yep. And in the meantime, some of us were still havin' to put up with BREME. Well, this whole time, we were asking them to report back on anything suspicious that the bureau was doing._

_Like what Prowl wanted me to do..._

_'Zactly. Reason being, to put it bluntly, we wanted to see if they were having dealings with Decepticons behind our back. Only thing is that we weren't anticipating something like this. Not sure what to make of it._

Hound's vehicular body coiled in on itself as they drove. A shudder passed through his spark.

_I know what to make of it_, he sent, the signal a little strained.

_I know you do, buddy. Just hang in there, got it? We need you for this._

The Jeep steadied his wheels, and set his blinker on in preparation to exit. _Follow me, I'll take us to where our turnoff meets the main road, and we can split from there._

He took them to a large intersection (one of the only in the area) just off the highway and pulled off to the side of the road. The stretch was almost completely deserted at this time of day, and Hound was tempted to transform. Still, would have been too dangerous.

_I imagine they made a left here,_ he sent.

_What's to the right?_ asked Trailbreaker.

_Nothing, really. A few private residences. We won't find anything there._

_Alright, so we'll cross the highway, I'll head directly north, Beachcomber will head directly south, and Hound and Trailbreaker will head in a click or two before separating. _

_Sounds like a plan, Stan._

_Let's roll out._

In a matter of minutes, Hound found himself alone, going down a stretch of moderately civilized road. He spotted a gas station, super market, bank, drug store, and a fast food joint up ahead. Good. Pulling over into an empty parking lot, he started with the gas station.

Wirelessly, he sent out electronic feelers into the CCTV system, temporarily interrupting the feed. After a few moments, he reached the video data, and streaming it into his processors, began playing through the last few hours to see if he could spot the van. It took about 10 minutes to rifle through the reel at close to 20x normal speed, but there was nothing. And with no view of the street from the camera's vantage point, he had no way of knowing if they even passed this way.

His engine roared angrily as he left the parking lot to pull into the strip mall next door. He started the process all over again with the bank ATMs.

_Anything?_ came the familiar signature of Skids, interrupting the silence.

_Yeah, we've been looking for 45 minutes now, and still nothing, guys,_ Cliffjumper chimed in.

_Well, you keep looking!_ Jazz ordered. _Hound, how you doin' over there?_

_Fine._

A pause. _Keep it up, officer. We've still got time. Remember, everybody, this is a 425: treat this just like you would any other MIA rescue mission. We don't quit until the case is closed. Got it?_

_Yes, sir!_

_Hey, uh, Jazz, I've got visual on what looks like a police helicopter making rounds around the harbor area in what looks like a typical search pattern._

_Alright, keep an optic on it and let us know if you see its behavior change. Stay out of sight, got it? You know the drill._

_Yes, sir._

Hound continued what he was doing, trying to keep himself optimistic, but it was getting more and more painful with each passing breem. Some part of him quietly crept in with the thought that they'd be finding a body before the weekend was over.

_No, slaggit, she's still alive! _

But alas, the bank cameras yielded nothing. Next was the store.

Hound wasn't sure how much more his spark could take, honestly. But he to had to keep going. He refused to entertain any other option. He hunted down the video feed starting from 7:30, like he did with the others.

It was at about the 7:47 mark that he saw something.

Just a glimpse on the edge of the parking lot... a blurry, white, boxy shape under what must have been the broken light off on the south side, just barely illuminated by the lights shining from the front of the establishment. The vehicle seemed strategically parked in the patch of darkness, though it pulled into the space haphazardly, as though in a dreadful hurry. Hound decided to "watch" the video at it's native speed.

In pulls the white van, coming in fast and breaking suddenly to park. From the passenger-side exits someone; the vehicle remains idling. It's a man- he briskly walks nearer to the camera as he goes into the store and disappears out of sight again.

Hound realized that he recognized him.

It's him! The one that had the gun!

The autobot's spark jumped in it's casing, sending a surge of energy through his frame. For a second time, Hound had to resist the very real and sudden urge to leap up into biped mode and bust into the pharmacy to demand information from them. He gave himself a quick moment to calm down.

Once he had his thoughts and processes in order, he dove a little deeper in to their CCTV system to take a gander at the video taken of the cashiers.

At 7:49, the man appeared again, rushing up to the counter and nearly throwing what looked to be a small, white bottle at the young woman behind the counter. He couldn't stand still, Hound noticed. The mech paused the reel and zoomed in as far as he could without losing all sense of the image. His jacket, a dark gray, seemed to have black stains on it.

Astrid's blood?

If Hound had a heart, it would have been racing.

The cashier, it looked like, noticed this as well; she was gesturing at him. At this, he gesticulated harshly, his body language instantly becoming threatening. He could see him grow angry with her, throwing a wadded up bill on the counter and leaving before the transaction could be completed. Another employee stepped nearer, though the two remained mostly motionless as he stormed out of the store.

Hound switched back to the exterior camera to watch him leave. Just a moment after he stepped into the frame, though, the feed was interrupted. It exploded into static for less than a second, then faded out as he broke into a jog toward the van. By 7:50, they'd disappeared out of the view of the camera, possibly making a left as they exited the lot.

_I've got a hit, _Hound broadcast.

_Where? When?_

_Slagger bought something at a drug store before heading off; he looked to be in a real hurry. Sending my coordinates now._

_Good work! Do you know where they were headed?_

_I-I don't know... maybe back toward the highway, but that's just a guess._

_We should refine our search,_ suggested Trailbreaker.

_I agree_, Jazz sent. _Everyone rendezvous at Hound's location, we'll proceed from here. Skids, any word on the chopper?_

_Successfully stayed out of sight, though it looks like they've brought in another one to help out. Coupled with Beachcomber's sighting, should be a few in the area now. I've been scanning the police channels, and it looks like they think they're after robbery suspects. Not sure about the military ones. They might be in the loop.  
><em>

_Frag,_ Jazz hissed. _Keep a sharp lookout for press and news presences down there. It's only a matter of time before we've got civilians looking out their windows for us too._

_Can do, sir._

Hound sat tight in the parking lot, waiting.

Hurting.

A pain of the likes he hadn't felt in either recent or distant memory had befallen him that evening. His body almost trembled with terror; his sense of normality arrested like the frost seizes the morning dew. It was a special gift, he'd been told uncounted years prior, to be able to warp one's perception of reality under duress. It was not a common behavior pattern among Cybertronians, the Jeep recalled with a fierce bitterness.

_You would understand, Astrid,_ he thought hopelessly to himself.

He entertained unintelligible thoughts for a while. Half-mourning, half-smoldering, half-wondering where she was, half-wondering what more he could do.

In a sad appeal to chance, he turned his chemical tracer to the air, hoping to get a whiff of her. Nothing.

Jazz rolled in, then: a silver Porsche. He revved a little in a sign of camaraderie as he parked beside the Jeep. _Anything else?_ he sent.

_No_, Hound returned.

_What'd the perp buy?_

_Pills. That's all I know._

_Prowl rung me up while I was on my way over._

_Yeah?_

_Said BREME gave AHQ a call and had some very nasty words to say. He bought us time, though._

_I guess if you can rely on Prowl for anything, it's making a reasonable argument._

_Estimated that we've got about four and a half hours before they figure out where we are._

_And from there...?_

_Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, aight?_

_Alright._

Jazz opened up the channel. _Hey Skids._

_Yep?_

_Keep heading up the highway and let us know what you find._

_Sure thing, boss._

A few minutes later, the rest of the crew entered the vicinity. Jazz gave the order to continue the search in Eagle River. There were exactly two stop lights in the area with cameras, and many streets to check now.

_Alright, you know the vehicle we're looking for. Split up and start looking!_

Hound started with the northwesternmost corner of the town and began the slow combing of quiet residential streets, anxiety gnawing dim spots into his spark.

–

**A.**

The temperature was dropping some.

Her arm ached.

Deep and throbbing, like something sharp and hot was buried in the muscle tissue. Well, there was something there, she guessed. It didn't seem like there was an exit wound.

Astrid's stomach was churning and head swimming indistinctly.

She had to do it, she decided. And she'd succeed- the only other option was to die trying. The plan she managed to cook up required that the first step be taken now, because she was unsure how long it would take to do what she'd desperately hoped it would do.

Trying not to think any more than was absolutely necessary, Astrid peeled off one of her socks and dismounted the bed, kneeling on the floor. She reached underneath to pull out the now-used bed pan with her bad arm, and hissed at the strain. The good arm couldn't reach. Astrid sat there for a moment, gazing at her own urine with disgusted hesitation, but again cleared her mind of all objection and plunged the sock in. While the wool garment soaked up the liquid, she kept a panicked ear out for any sign of life beyond the room, and tried to keep her breathing in check.

_Deep breath... deep breath..._

_You can do this._

_You can fucking do this._

With a sudden burst of resolve, she jumped up silently and darted across the room to the single outlet and grabbing a small nail that she spied in the corner earlier. And with her wounded arm, she began to use the edge of the nail head to unscrew the outlet cover. It took all her strength of will to not cry out at the pain involved in doing so... still, it was slow going. Astrid's heart beat like thunder.

After about a minute, the plastic plate was undone and she slid it along the lamp cord, and the box dutifully popped out revealing some haphazard wiring behind it.

_Good god, Astrid, you don't know shit about electrical work! Shit!_

Well, she did know _something:_ don't touch.

She jumped back over to the sock and fetched it from the bed pan with as few fingers as she could manage, and sat back down at the outlet, not quite sure what to do now. She needed something to push the sock in with. The only thing she could possibly use, she realized, was the lamp cord itself, which required unplugging it and plunging the room into temporary darkness and hoping that it would go unnoticed.

_Deep breaths..._

Bracing the box with her knee, she undid one of the wire caps to expose the bare wire, and tossed it inside. Then, after staring at the set up for a few second to commit the placement to memory, she crossed her proverbial fingers and unplugged the light.

She was sure that death by electrocution was worse than death by blood loss, but death by infection? It might be a tie. Staring straight ahead, Astrid reached for where she remembered the sock to be and carefully, shakily, placed it in front of the open socket and began pushing it in, making sure that her fingers touched nothing but the rubber surrounding the lamp cord. A few tentative seconds later, the thing was secured in place with minimal screwing, and the lamp was plugged back in with a small _pop_ from the socket. Astrid whipped around to stare wide-eyed at the door for a moment, almost sure that she would find someone standing there.

When she saw that she was still alone, it did little to relax her nerves. She had to wrap this up, pronto.

Pushing the box back in with all her might, compressing the sock into the tight space, she held it in with her knee again and quickly got to putting back the screws. Astrid had hoped that she could get away with just one, but the bottom stuck out too much for her liking, so she wound up doing both of them.

As soon as she was done, she tossed the nail under the bed, slid the bed pan underneath as well, and leapt back into the bed.

Everything was quiet, still. She didn't hear a single sound in the house or outside, and sat there for what seemed like hours, listening.

She heard nothing but the static in her ears.

Her eyes darted around wildly as she caught her breath, and it suddenly dawned on her... that she'd succeeded in the first part of her plan.

Possibly another hour went by before she was finally calmed down enough to move. Her paranoid rigor mortis was causing every muscle in her body to hurt, and was doing a number on her already injured and slowly deteriorating arm.

_Breathe._

With having gone so long already without being disturbed, Colin seemed to be putting a lot of faith into not just the set up of the room, but also her level of fearful compliance. Perhaps he _would_ only return in the morning...

Astrid yawned.

She didn't know what time it was, but it had to be after midnight. What time did she wake up that morning? 6? It had been a long, harrowing day, and maybe, just maybe, she was being allowed a few precious hours of sleep. What else was she going to do?

No! She had to stay awake and vigilant for as long as she could manage it.

But the longer she sat there, the harder it was to keep her eyes open. Her body slackened, and she promised herself that she'd only close her eyes for just a minute... she had to keep an eye on the electrical socket just in case... it...

…

_POP_

Astrid jumped at the sound, letting out a small, startled noise. The room was dark. It took her a moment to realize what was going on, but in no time she remembered and leapt off the bed and went to the outlet once again.

She wasted no time pulling out the loose screws and yanking the box out, only to be greeted with the smell of smoke.

_Yes, yes!_

Before she had the chance to do much anything else, though, the exposed wiring sparked again. To Astrid's amazement, a small flame appeared on the wiring, flickering a greenish blue and giving off a horrible stench of plastic. She wasted no time, then, ripping off her other sock and holding it to the flame let it extinguish itself. The wool didn't burn, she noticed.

_Fuck._

Without thinking, as the flame was beginning to die already, she dug underneath her bloody bandages with gritted teeth, and tore out the remaining clean gauze. Terrified of losing her only chance, she stuck the white cotton into the flame. It caught immediately, and Astrid panicked, realizing that she had no idea where to put it... right! The box! She scooted over to the cardboard box and moved it away from the wall, turned it over and set the gauze inside. Astrid turned one of the lips of the box inward toward the small fire, and the cardboard also caught without hesitation.

_Okay, what now, genius?_

What else in the room was flammable? Her contract, of course! It wouldn't do hardly any good now, though. She needed something that would burn hotter and longer than paper.

The fire was large, but it would burn itself out quickly if she didn't do something about it.

_The sheet. Try the sheet..._

Astrid grabbed the bed sheet, which by touch she could identify as a cheap, rough cotton. Good. That would burn too. She threw that on the fire, careful not to smother it. Unfortunately, this made a lot of smoke.

She sat and watched the fire dance for a few moments, thinking up her next course of action, almost completely lost to the animal instinct to survive.

_Ah ha!_

Astrid got up, kicking the box and sheet over to make room for the bed. Thankfully, she was able to reach it with both arms, and give it a good pull. It took a few seconds to push it in front of the door, length-wise with the room. She grabbed the lamp to wedge the other door shut with: taking off the shade, she smashed the bulb off against the bed frame, and set it in place, making sure that it would hold at least a little.

Now back to the fire.

The box, now mostly consumed with flames, was positioned up against the side of the bed, with the idea that the cheap wooden frame and mattress would catch as well. As for the curtain? Well, she was saving that for last.

Now to wait.

The room itself was brightly illuminated by this new light source, and she was entranced; able to forget, for just a moment, the pain in her arm and the new trickle of blood that threatened to spill out of the bandage. The smoke was filling the space much faster than she'd anticipated, unfortunately, so she got down onto the floor to sit. Still, she couldn't avoid the inevitable coughing.

At some point, the bed proper caught fire, but the mattress just stunk. It was at that point that Astrid got up to tear down the window curtain and throw it on the bed as well. She removed the cardboard from the window pane as well and tossed it on the fire for good measure.

Standing up proved to be difficult now, with all the smoke, though. She was just about to reach for the bed pan to break open the window and let some of it escape, when she heard the distinct sound of a smoke alarm go off somewhere.

Astrid froze.

She had to break that window now and call for help; she was out of time.

With a surge of adrenaline she swung the metal container at the glass, causing an unmistakeable crash that could probably be heard for blocks. Just then, the door rumbled ferociously, as though someone was trying to get in, but the bed was in the way. Astrid had found that she'd lost her voice and all desire to make a single sound. Calling out into the night air while there was yelling and cursing going on just on the other side of the door now seemed like the worst idea in the world.

The door stopped jiggling and thumping uselessly against the bed for a second before it was opened, pushing everything out of its way. Astrid was flung down onto the ground as the flaming bed frame hit her, and she cried out, her body suddenly remembering its injury.

"Oh my god!" a woman shrieked. "Shit!"

"Fuck!" came another, male, voice. "I'm calling the fire department!"

Out of the black smoke emerged a form, creeping closer to where Astrid was sprawled on the ground. She recognized the looming, slowly moving form as belonging to Colin. He was stiff, like a coiled spring. Astrid distinctly got a freakishly predatory vibe from him just then, as though he were somehow... more.

"You will _not_," he barked at the nameless man. The room was, for all intents and purposes then, deadly quiet as he closed in on the young woman in front of him. Astrid looked up, daring not move an inch, and saw a horrible gleam in his cold, hard eyes. "You started this?"

She opened her mouth a little, but nothing came out. He stared down at her for many long, painful moments before turning away toward the other two people.

"Gasoline, lighter fluid, alcohol, kerosene, whatever you have that will speed this up for her. Bring it here, now."

"You want to burn our house down?" came the male voice. "You can go fuck yourself!"

"We're done here. I've had enough of this, I'm calling 911. Elana, get the fire extinguisher."

Colin's voice was oddly composed compared to the other two. "What, and get thrown in jail? Don't be stupid."

"_I'm not burning my fucking house down to cover this up!_" Colin disappeared past the fire and the smoke into the hallway, and there was a pause. "Hey! What are you-"

Astrid thought she heard something that sounded like a crack or crunch, and remained frozen when there was a woman's scream and another long pause, then silence. Her breathing came in short bursts, almost like convulsions, and her body was cold despite the heat from the fire.

Colin didn't return for some minutes, but when he did, she heard him set something down. Something heavy and plastic, and a sloshing sound accompanied it.

"Get _up_," he demanded, returning to her field of vision. When Astrid was too slow for his liking, he grabbed her by the injured arm and hoisted her himself. She couldn't help but let out a horrible cry. "Clearly," he said, stepping up onto the bed into the fire. Astrid looked on in horror as he stood, unscathed, in the flames. In fact, he was paying them no mind despite the fact that his clothes were beginning to burn. "You had no interest in helping from the get-go." Colin was fiddling with the rope on the ceiling; he untied the knot and hoisted her arm up so that it was high above her head, effectively chaining her to the spot.

He continued. "But that's okay," he went on, jumping off the bed, shirt melted to his skin. He kicked the bed away from the center of the room back up against the wall where it was originally, and seemingly with little effort. "Your ridiculous little planet, and the Autobots are done for anyway. " He stepped up to her and grabbed hold her her face then, wrenching it near to his. "We'll find someone else, and I'm sure they'll be _happy_ to confirm whose cruiser that is down there, how much energon there is for us to use, and how long it'll take for your teams to excavate it for us. And if it's Megatron's, like Soundwave seems to think it is, then all the better."

His eyes flashed a luminescent red for a moment; it sent shivers down Astrid's spine. "W-who are y-you?" she stammered.

A big, toothy grin spread on his face. "Codec, espionage extraordinaire, Decepticon loyalist, and proud Pretender revivalist. And you, you disgusting flesh bag, are about to be _disappeared_." He broke away, then, and reached for one of the gas cans. Once he moved, though, she was able to see into the hallway... and wished she hadn't.

Crumpled up on the floor were two people, a man and a woman, still wearing their pajamas. The man's head was twisted around to a horrible angle that made Astrid's stomach churn, and the woman's neck was red from strangulation. Her tongue hung out of the side of her mouth like a salted, pink slug.

Noises escaped her. Many noises. Noises that gurgled and moaned, and soon escalated into loud, pathetic wails. She tried with all her might to get away from the view, to look upon something other than those two people, dead and murdered on the floor in front of her, but she couldn't. Nothing else existed. It was just them, and her, and she felt like she was slowly being sucked closer to them, and _oh god no oh god no get out get away from here_

Meanwhile, Colin paid no attention to her, or the fire as it burned away and blackened the ceiling. He was busy pouring some kind of liquid fuel over the room, then onto the bodies and down the hallway, leaving her even more alone with them.

_Oh, how they stared..._

Astrid was moaning and groaning and whining and whimpering, writhing around on her tight leash. Her eyes burned, though, and breathing was becoming uncomfortable.

Colin/Codec returned a few minutes later, stepping over the bodies like nothing to make sure that everything was up to standard before he left the scene. He said nothing during his quick once-over, and was gone. Nothing but routine.

That was it?

This is how she was going to die? Suffocating and staring death in its two horrible, terrific faces? She realized that she would be indistinguishable from them once Hound found her: a charred mass of organic matter, only identifiable by her dental records.

In her heart she anguished horribly at this, and couldn't help but cry out now, wailing at the top of her lungs for help, for Hound, for anybody.

Astrid realized that she really, really didn't want to die.

At least, not like this.

At that moment, the gasoline (or whatever it was) caught fire, violently rushing out the door to consume the rest of the house in a blast of heat. The mangled bodies of the man and the woman burst into flames, and Astrid started to cry.


	9. Helplessly Hoping

Stumbling on that video feed had fueled the fire in his spark, and he was on the hunt again, chemical tracer probing the the very molecules in the air for any trace of something he could identify as belonging to her.

Right now, he was in blood hound mode.

Tires like fists, pounding the pavement with embittered vitality, his desire to know that she was okay was the sole focus of his existence in the following hour that they all searched for clues in silence. He wound down every street he saw, combing the sleepy, chilly, neighborhood block after block after block.

Still nothing.

But that was no matter to him, anymore. All of his fore-processors were trained on this singular task: he thought of nothing else as he went. Time was a distant murmur, and the threat of BREME retaliation was a faint glimmer on the horizon.

It was 11:58 when Skids broke radio silence.

_Guys, you might wanna check this out... tune into the channel 2 news broadcast._

Hound pulled over somewhat and put on his parking lights while he took a break to check in. A little late for the nightly news, wasn't it?

"_-suspects are reported to be driving a green, four-door Jeep of unknown model, and a white van. Police say that the armed robbery took place just outside of Anchorage, where a 29 year old woman was shot and injured. If you have seen either of these vehicles this evening, police are requesting that you call their tipline at..."_

_Slag_, Jazz broadcast.

Hound was no longer green for the time being, but he warily turned off his headlights as he pulled away from the curb to continue his search. _Not good_, he sent.

_We'll just play it safe, and lay low... if we avoid looking suspicious, we'll be fine, right? s_uggested Trailbreaker.

Cliffjumper scoffed. _What do you think we are, a bunch of James Bonds? _

_We play it safe, _Jazz ordered. _And see how long we last._

_Buh-bah four helicopters out now_, Beachcomber informed everyone. _Still no press, but I'll bet they've got a couple o' them fancy, sleek black wheels out on the streets about now._

_And armed with immobilizers, too_, Hound sighed.

One of the search helicopters passed by overhead then, and the Jeep hastily pulled into an empty driveway just in case their light happened to fall on him. This was shaping up to be a horrible, horrible night. The chopper did a couple rounds over the vicinity, and Hound stayed put until they moved on.

_So... what, are we gonna get picked off one by one?_ Cliffjumper broadcast. _That's the plan?_

Hound knew Jazz was growing agitated. _Plans have _changed_, Cliffjumper. But I don't think grouping up to get hauled off all in one go is going to do anyone any good. Now quit your complaining- and don't forget that you volunteered to do this._

Cliffjumper's end of the channel was silent.

_Skids, how's it looking up there?_

_More of the same, boss. I'll let you know if I get any leads._

_Good._

And the night wore on. Hound didn't like that he had to keep on his toes about the helicopters and search lights; they were distracting him from his work.

Though something else was beginning to distract him too... memories. Images of her started trickling into his forethoughts. Her smile, the feel of her against his hands, the sun in her hair. The way she hugged his forearm, or looked into his optics with all her fierce vitality. The way she treated him like an equal, a h...

...uman being.

Hound paused at this thought, catching himself off-guard; but he didn't have it in him to dwell on it for too long. Too few precious resources for introspection, now. Too little energy. Too much heartache.

By 1 am, he'd covered about 8 square miles of road and wound up passing by Trailbreaker. They stopped for a break together for a few minutes, sitting in uneasy silence in a parking lot.

_I think we've pretty much taken care of this town,_ the black mech sent.

_I think so._

Trailbreaker went over to the group communications line: _Hey Jazz, I think we've covered Eagle River. What next?_

_All we've got is the drugstore lead, huh? Hm. _

_They could be out in the wilderness for all we know_, Hound said weakly.

_Well, we don't, so we're gonna keep combing the towns because it's our best damn bet. Beachcomber, keep an ear out for cell phone calls being made in your area. _

_Sure thing, daddy-o._

_And nobody else has _anything_, huh?_

_I might have something..._ Skids offered. _I can't be sure though._

_Well, what is it?_

_I'm seeing smoke about a mile to the west up here, not sure if any of you can get a visual on it._

_I can't in this form. Hound, can you get a whiff of it?_

The Jeep trained his sensors to the air, but found nothing. _I'm not smelling any smoke from here._

_Could just be a chimney or party bonfire_, Trailbreaker suggested.

_Yeah, you're probably right._

_Keep an eye on it, though. Someone else might need our help tonight,_ Jazz said.

_What do you mean?_

_If a house is going up, I can't just sit here and watch it burn._

_You know that thing'll be a BREME magnet, right? Who knows, they might have even set it to bait us! I say let the humans take care of this one._

Hound didn't like the implications of something like that. Not at all. But the mech wasn't exactly a multi-tasker, and his spark was selfishly telling him to ignore whatever other tragedies going on that night in order to take care of his own. _Cliffjumper might be right._

Jazz seemed to consider this. _If it comes to that, I'm not asking any of you to join me. But right now, focus on the task at hand. And like I said, Skids, update us as necessary._

_Jazz, I think I'm actually going to up across the river and join him. I've covered about a quarter of this town, and still nothing. _

_Alright, Hound. You continue on. The rest of the bots and I will wrap it up down here._

Hound peeled away from the curb like a sulking shadow, leaving Trailbreaker behind. Ten minutes later and he'd gotten off the highway at the next town up. Skids informed him that he had the entire southern half to go through, which really wasn't much... Hound guessed it would take him about an hour at most from what he could tell from the satellite view.

The streets were quiet and poorly lit, with streetlamps maybe one every hundred feet or two that were a dim orange. Some of them buzzed irritably. Anchorage and its surrounding areas were completely desolate at this time of night. Not a single thing stirred aside from the occasional chilly off-shore breeze, but even that made no sound. It was like a ghost town.

Dutifully, he patrolled down the winding residential streets. The landscape was bare and houses far apart, which meant he could cover ground a little faster here without fear of missing anything.

A small commercial plane moseyed on by overhead, probably headed for Fairbanks. Hound could see the smoke that Skids was talking about now, a few blocks away from him. It certainly was only a small trickle. Though the idea pained him, Hound resigned to doing a quick drive-by to see what it was after he made his way to the area. Just a quick peek, though- he had to stay focused.

But something about it didn't sit right with him. His sensors were finding traces of petrochemicals in the air. Normally that would have meant nothing to him as vehicles exuded the stuff all the time and cities, especially near shipping and transit corridors, always had the musk of fossil fuels hanging in the air. But Wasilla, AK in the dead of night? He found that hard to believe, especially since the level on the highway was even less than it was here.

Hound found himself creeping down the gently curving, freshly-paved road in complete silence, like a cat stalking prey. He was minding the properties and driveways he was passing still, but something about this smoke up ahead was begging to be identified as arson.

Suddenly, however, all doubt was put to rest as Hound heard, and saw, an explosion. A huge plume of black smoke erupted on the tails of a bright red fireball before him, filling the sky with light and sound for the briefest of moments. Instinctively, the Jeep gunned it.

_Vector slaggin' Sigma!_ Skids exclaimed over the channel. _Did anyone else see that?_

_See what? What happened?_

_Holy smokes, I can see it now... and no pun intended._

_What is it?_

_An explosion! Some house just got totally gutted, it looks like._

Hound interrupted the chatter. _I'll be on the scene in 20 seconds. _

_And I'll meet you there,_ Skids replied.

_What, are you guys crazy?_ Cliffjumper burst out. _This is just begging for trouble!_

_If there was anyone in that house just then, they're in even more trouble right now,_ sent Jazz. _I'm on my way. Cliffjumper, Trailbreaker, and Beachcomber, you stay hidden and keep us covered._

As Hound raced down the streets, people started emerging, bleary-eyed, from their homes to watch the spectacle in awe and horror. He heard sirens as he pulled up across the street from the burning house.

It was almost completely ablaze, but it didn't take long to deduce that it was the garage which had exploded. Against his better judgment, Hound decided to transform. There were throngs of people out now, but not too close. Unfortunately, they were crowding him.

"Out of the way! Gimme some room!" he shouted at the crowd, startling just about everyone who could hear him over the roaring flames. Whether they stood back out of surprise or because they actually heard him didn't matter. As soon as he was sure he wouldn't crush anybody, Hound initiated the process, folding himself out of his previous form as fast as he could.

Of course, none of the humans around him knew what to make of the situation. Several people shrieked and ran, but most just started talking, ushering each other out of the way, suddenly extremely cautious. Families clumped together, and young people turned their phones and cameras away from the blaze and onto him. Hound couldn't have cared less in that moment.

"Is there anyone still inside?" he implored of the crowd, projecting his voice so that he could be heard. Thankfully, there were a few people that recognized him for what he was and knew he was there to help.

"A couple lives there!" a woman shouted to him from several yards away. "I don't think they've come out yet!"

Hound nodded and closed the distance between himself and the house. It was a very hot fire, and already the structure was compromised beyond repair. Two people were still in there?

Behind him pulled up two fire trucks and an ambulance, and in seconds they were pulling out hoses and gurneys. The firemen didn't even pause in their measured swiftness, but the fire chief ran up to him, bulky in his heavy uniform.

"I didn't know your kind would be here," he called up to the mech.

"I happened to be in the area."

"Were you?"

Hound looked on, suspecting that the man recognized him from the news broadcast. "Tell me what I can do to help. I'm not big enough to hold the whole house up."

The chief gave him a hard look for few seconds. The hoses sprang to life, and the firefighters shouted at each other as a small group was preparing to enter the structure.

"If you're insisting on helping, there ain't much we can do to stop you. Go around back and take a peek inside. Use your best judgment." With that, he went off to go direct his men.

Hound jogged around behind the hose-operators to enter the back of the premises, spotting a few pieces of furniture pushed up against the back wall next to a door. He ignored them and began looking inside the windows, starting with the top floor.

He wove his way around, trying to see past the flames with his single optic, his other sensors ineffective in the face of such temperatures. Making them useful again would require calibration... and time that he didn't have. The blaze was cacophonous, too. The roar of the flames with the crackling of building materials made it impossible to hear anything but.

The mech didn't spot anyone upstairs, but now that he was much closer to the action, he was detecting an odor that disturbed him: the faint whisper of burning skin and hair. Suddenly frantic, he got down onto all fours and began looking into the bottom story windows, and came upon one that was broken.

He finished that one off with a quick jab of his fist, noticing the smell was strongest at that window. Training his optic into the flames, he was sure he saw a figure standing in the middle of the room.

"Hello!" he called just to make sure. "Is someone in there!"

The figure started moving! Though strangely, as though it were anchored to the spot.

He heard a cry; unintelligible, as though muffled, but loud and strained. He had to do something. The mech jumped up to his feet and began prying off the roof. He took his elbow joint and bashed in the ceiling, careful to avoid having debris fall on his target, and once a hole was made, he gripped hard and tore down the wall.

"Just hold on! I've got..."

And there stood a woman that he knew, tied to the ceiling by some sadistic design. He could see her eyes, reddened from the soot, meet his. She was standing in her underwear, pants removed to cover her face in an attempt to keep herself from breathing the toxic air; it was held to her mouth with a mangled and bloody arm.

Hound's spark stood still.

Without a single circuit firing, he flung himself into tearing the room open, ripping out the walls and roof in a fearful rage with only one thing in his processors: _rescue. _He didn't even notice the two firefighters in the skeleton of a hallway, nor did he even notice the badly burned remains of the homeowners not 10 feet from where Astrid was tied up.

All he saw was her, reddened from her own burns and bloodied from an untreated gunshot wound.

Hound grabbed the rope tying her to a beam in the ceiling and gave it a tug, tearing it out of its compromised foundation, and finally freeing her. She lay in his hands, limp and wheezing, unable to speak. Shaking; she was shaking horribly. Her eyes were shut tight as he held her in his open palms, clutching herself weakly. He saw that she was crying.

He collapsed into a kneel, afraid to bring her closer or touch any more of her than he already was due to her burns.

So badly he wanted to just sit and hold her and will her pain away, but he was jolted back into reality as some part of the roof caved in with a crash, belching a cloud of sparks and embers into the air. No, he was no doctor. And her wounds of the flesh needed tending to immediately.

Hound rose to his feet and carried her back around the house to the waiting ambulance just as the exploratory team of firefighters were dragging out the bodies and two paramedics rushed to meet them.

"I've got a live one!" he called to the third, standing by with the gurney. The others, most likely just having pronounced the couple dead, looked up at the prospect of someone needing their help, and ran over when they saw what the Autobot was holding.

Police had arrived on the scene as well, and were busying themselves with taping off the area and controlling the crowd. Several officers rushed over to the sidewalk with a tarp to cover the bodies.

Carefully, Hound lowered her down onto the hospital bed, and the medical staff immediately took over.

"Where are you taking her?" he asked quickly, as they were shoving her up into the back of the ambulance.

"Alaska Regional," one of them replied before closing the door and racing off in the direction of the highway, siren blaring.

_Hound, watch out for the-_

Just as he was about to transform and follow them, a black Ford Crown Victoria pulled up and cut him off. Before it even came to a stop, two men dressed in black suits jumped out and pointed what appeared to be weapons at him. It only took a second for Hound to recognize that they were immobilizer dischargers.

"Unit 17, otherwise known as Hound, you are under arrest in violation of the Groom Lake Pact. You are entitled to the rights and benefits as outlined therein. You will resume your vehicular form _now_, and we will provide transport for your immediate vacation of the area to one of our facilities where you will be processed. If you do not comply, we will use force."

"What in the hell is going on over here!" two of the police offers jogged up to Hound and the BREME agents, drawing their sidearms. "Drop your weapons!"

The agents, visibly inconvenienced, lowered their immobilizers. The one standing closer to the cops reached into his breast pocket as he stepped nearer, likely reaching for a badge of sorts, but the officer didn't like that one bit. "_Hands where I can see them!_"

"Autobot," said the other cop. "You know these guys?"

Hound looked squarely at the two of them, hard features set in his face plates. "Never seen them before in my life." He paused for a moment and tilted his head to the side. "I think they might know how this fire got started, though."

"Is that right?" said the first police officer, lowering his gun and reaching for some zip-tie handcuffs at his belt. "Hands behind your back, gentlemen. You have the right to remain silent..." The crowd, who had watched the exchange, erupted into applause.

_No way did you just do that_.

Hound turned around and there, down the street, were parked Skids and Jazz. Apparently they were elated at the tables being turned for the BREME agents, but the Jeep still had other things weighing down on his mind.

_Great! Now let's get back to it. Looks like everything's taken care of here._

_No, that's it._

_What do you mean?_

_Search is over. I found her._

…_what?_

_She was in the house. Look, I need to get to the hospital right now. She's in the ER._

Hound ignored any more communications for the time being, and turned back toward the police officers. "You get everything you can from these two, and be sure to tell Commissioner Phillips down at Anchorage PD everything you find. Search the area for a white van... you might find the perp that did this."

The mech broke off into a sprint, transforming mid-stride to the raucous support of the bystanders, and sped away down the street. This was going to be all over the internet tonight.

–

The hospital was quiet at this hour. Hound pulled into the visitor's lot and parked, engaging his holoform and sending it into the building.

"You just admitted an emergency burn patient by the name of Astrid Schneider," he said, stepping up to the receptionist. "Caucasian, blonde, brown-eyes, about 5'6" and 137-"

"Hold on, hold on," chided the woman, turning to her computer. "What's her name again?"

"Astrid Schneider," Hound enunciated dramatically. "Burn and gun victim."

"She's in surgery right now. Are you her husband?"

"No, but-"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to need to either wait down here in the lobby, or come back during visiting hours if you're not immediate family."

"I can't do that. I'm the closest thing to family she's got in the entire state, and I don't want her waking up alone." Hound fought to keep his holoform from fizzling out of frustration. "Tell me where she is so I can wait there."

The woman gave him a loathsome look and twisted her mouth over to the side. "Sir, you cannot see her until she's awake during visiting hours. Now please have a seat."

"Dammit, if you won't help me then I'm going to have to find out myself."

Hound probed the hospital's computer system for her information. His holo turned away from the receptionist and stared into space as he did so.

"Sir-"

"Found her," said the holo, snapping back to life. "Please for the love of Primus please don't call security. She doesn't need any more stress after what she's been through tonight."

Hound disappeared the man then, and located the room where Astrid was being treated. In no time, he reappeared back into existence in the hallway outside, scaring the ever-loving shit out of a nurse in the process.

"What in the hell, man!" she screeched, staring at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates. "The fuck is this! Oh God, oh Lord..." she made the sign of the cross as she backed away. "Whatever in the hell it is you are, you've got the wrong-"

"Whoa, whoa, lady! Calm down!" Hound's holo threw up his arms, a pleading look on his face. "I'm just here to wait for my girlfriend! She's in surgery!"

"Waiting for your _girlfriend_?" shouted the nurse, now angry. "You just appeared out of nowhere! _SECURITY!_"

"No, no, no, it's not like that!"

"_SECUUUURITAY!"_

Hound's holoform groaned. He didn't have the energy for this! "I'm a hologram is why! I'm not real! See?" He stuck his arm through his own torso. In hindsight, that was probably the worst thing he could have done.

At seeing this, the nurse threw up the papers she was carrying and took off down the hall, screaming for security, a priest, and a shrink.

The holo just stood there, and Hound, out in the parking lot, wanted to just throw his arms up and concede defeat. Quite frankly, he was exhausted and consumed with worry. Why couldn't they just leave him _be? _He was sick of arguing, of reasoning, of persuading and diffusing. This was the last place, and the last situation, that he wanted anything to do with any of that.

And so before the security guard had the opportunity to see him as he came around the corner, Hound rendered his temporary presence there invisible, staying silent as the guard briskly passed down the hallway, and disappeared down some other corridor, looking this way and that for the trespasser.

The Jeep outside sunk down on his shocks. He elected to remain unseen for the time being, too tired and distraught to bother with any more human interaction.

Few thoughts passed through his CPU over the next agonizing half hour that weren't sifting through memories of what had just happened and fearing the worst for Astrid, alternatively. He recalled that moment of recognition, seeing her frail and wounded body through the flames, which in turn dredged up an even older image. One where Astrid's face was sun-stained, dirty, battered, both sunken and swollen. She was a ghost caught in his headlights as he raced toward the scene.

Rescuing was always tricky business. He'd reached for her there in the room, consumed with both elation and horror at what he'd found there.

It didn't even occur to him how much damage she'd sustained until she was out of his hands, and now, soon to face that reality, he cowered as a shudder passed through him. He couldn't help but entertain the prospect of guilt; that, when simplified enough, only a single conclusion could be reached:

He was a danger to her.

Coming to this realization hit him like freight train.

Hound remembered his rifle, then. All the many thousands of years he'd both respected and hated it for what it did and what it allowed him to do. It would save him only if he kept throwing himself in the face of death. And if he stopped that cycle and walked away completely, then... well, he didn't know.

All he knew now was that he was beginning to do the same thing to her.

"Oh Primus..."

Hound was suddenly the ugliest creature in the universe, tempted to stay invisible forever.

Just then, the door opened before him and a surgeon came out, waving to someone down the hall as he headed for a vending machine for some coffee, completely unaware of Hound's remote presence. His ignorance of his patient's circumstance was enviable.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, this time pushed ajar by the front of a hospital bed. He saw her feet, then her legs, then the rest of her, covered by a hospital gown and crisp, white gauze. But they were moving quickly, and Hound rushed to keep up as they wound their way out of the belly of the building to where she would be allowed to rest and come-to in peace.

Eventually they brought her to an empty room with what would have been a nice view of the mountains, and set her up for what looked like was going to be another night after this. Hound's ghost stood in the doorway and watched as they hooked her up to machines and adjusted her oxygen mask among other things. One of them administered something through the IV, wrote on her chart, and filed out through him, closing the door.

"Nobody's waiting to see her?" he heard one of them ask as they walked away.

Hound stood in the room, still invisible to the naked eye, sensors shamefully assessing her body. Her skin was red most everywhere it looked like, with her shoulders, arms (partially), and other places covered up with gauze; her gunshot wound was covered too, and he couldn't see it.

She smelled like smoke and iodine, a strange combination of chemicals burying her true, unique scent underneath. Her pulse and breathing were slow and measured, signaling her deep, anesthetized slumber. No concept of time or self right now for her; she was as unconscious as could be.

He neared the bedside, noting the fuzz on her arms was gone, leaving behind tight, shiny skin. He reached out with an unseen human hand and touched her, lightly. Then he saw it.

The bruise was small, old, and by all accounts quite unremarkable. Four bands of faded discoloration could be barely seen on her left forearm, but what had caused them was unmistakable: he recognized their shape as belonging to his own metal fingers.

Hound withdrew from the room, retreating into his real body in the parking lot outside, anguished.

He'd found himself caught between two awful things, each diametrically opposed to and contradicting the other. Impulse one was to stick around and help her through this, and impulse two was to walk away lest he put her through any more shit.

Torn, he was. Completely and utterly. He spent some moments rocking back and forth a few inches in the parking lot, lost in a fit of despair, when he decided to go back up to the room and wait out the rest of the night and see how she felt upon waking.

_C'mon Hound, step up to the plate..._ _Even if it's only right now, she needs you._

But out on the edges of what sensors he still had awareness of, he felt 5 vehicles approach the area and quickly recognized them as his Autobot fellows. In a few minutes, they'd pulled into the mostly empty lot and surrounded him.

"There you are," Cliffjumper broke out vocally.

"Yeah, I guess we went and checked the wrong hospital... wouldda been here sooner if you'd had your damn comm channel open," said Trailbreaker, who was parked beside him. "Come on, open up before someone hears us."

Hound did as he was told.

_So we can assume you're gonna be here for a while, huh?_ Jazz asked collectively.

Hound sighed. _You know I can't leave her here by herself._

_That's fine. Look, we're going to head back to the station and let the commissioner know all of what we found, so gimme your memory tracks about the whole thing so I can hand 'em over. Is there anything else that needs to get taken care of while we're here?_

Hound started compiling his data and readying it for transfer. _I'm going to need someplace to take her when she's released. Go by the warehouse and see what's going on over there, would you? If it's under lock-down, we're going to have no place to go._

_Alright, we'll tackle that,_ Jazz sent.

_Go into biped mode when you approach, because you'll be easier to immobilize and haul away in vehicle mode. Get Prowl on the horn if you need to, and don't be surprised if Doley's there._

_Done and done, my friend!_

They started off back out, each one tooting their horns at him as they passed. Hound reached out one last time, though.

_Hey, guys? Thanks for everything you've done this evening. I wouldn't have been able to do anything without you. Really._

_We might not get why you've hooked up with a human, _said Trailbreaker. _But don't you forget that we're all Autobots._

Cliffjumper jumped in: _And when it comes down to the wire, we don't leave anyone hangin'._

_In other words, we got your buh-back, daddy-o._

The jeep was smiling on the inside. But then another question popped up in his CPU. _Are you all the only ones that know about...?_

_Just us, Prime, Prowl, and 'Jack._

_Could you do me a favor and not... you know..?_

_Hey man, you break the news when you feel like it. Ain't none of our business._

_Thanks, Jazz._

_Now we best be rollin' out. See you back down south sometime!_

_And give her our best when she comes-to!_

_Roger that, _Hound half-playfully sent as they disappeared down the road, leaving him alone with his conscience again.

He turned his non-visual gaze back to the window above him that belonged to Astrid's room, and sent himself back in there to wait dutifully by her bedside.

–

Several hours passed before she began to stir. Light was on the horizon, but dawn wouldn't come for a while yet still. Outside, Hound's intakes raced to shed the sickly heat he found himself suddenly producing.

Watching her come out of the medically-induced sleep wasn't like watching her wake in the morning. She stirred, yes, but mostly in the face. The rest of her barely, if at all, moved, and she made no sound as her eyes sluggishly opened. In fact, she stared, through half-lidded eyes at the far wall for some minutes, and the mech almost suspected that, even though her eyes were open, her mind was still mostly asleep. A long moment passed before she blinked deeply and started looking about the room, barely turning her head.

Energy filled him; he'd been holding his proverbial breath for some time.

"Is... anyone there?" she croaked weakly. "I'm in the hospital again, aren't I..."

"I'm here," Hound said. He tried to sound quiet and calm, but in all likelihood came across anxiously excited instead.

"Hound?" Astrid's eyes looked about the room for a moment from where she lay. "Where are you? I can't see you." There was something in her voice the immediately pained him.

He'd forgotten about his temporary invisibility, and fixed that right away. "I'm right here," he reaffirmed, and stepped up to the bedside.

His remote optical sensors looked at her face, red and glowing with residual heat from the fire. "Not this," she said quietly. "Let me see the real you."

Hound's brows furrowed. "But-"

"Please?"

A hundred situations, none of them good, raced through his CPU in the moment that followed the request, but... he couldn't bring himself to deny her. Hound's human holo nodded and was soon replaced by the much larger, much greener, image of his mech form, kneeling down beside the bed.

He cracked a faint smile.

"There you are," she whispered, face twisting up as a few tears streamed hot down her cheeks. Hound's spark felt like it was being rent in two, and he couldn't help but lean in and try to take as much of her in his arms as he could without moving her.

"Of course I am," he said faintly, resting two fingers against her face. "I wouldn't let anyone take you away from me."

A few seconds passed. "Thank you..." was all he could get out of her for some time, so he just sat there beside her, stroking her cheek and her hair, watching her drift in and out of sleep. A few minutes went by before something started eating away at him, though.

"Astrid?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry," he started, his voice almost as feeble and broken as hers, and his head hung low."I'm so sorry about everything. It's all my-"

Suddenly the door opened behind him, but he didn't bother to even move a servo. He knew who it was.

"_YOU!_" came the woman's voice. "You get away from my daughter!"

"How did it even get _in_ here?"

Hound looked down and saw Astrid shut her eyes tight and brought a hand up to cover her pained face. "Why now," she whispered faintly.

The mech whipped around then on his heels, hands on his knee joints. "Could we please keep it down? It's been a harrowing day for Astrid and she's trying to rest."

"I'll get security," the doctor said to Astrid's parents, and rushed out.

"You need to leave _now_," Tracy roared furiously. "However you got in here-"

"Mom, dad," Astrid said, trying to speak up from behind him. Hound maneuvered out of the way to let her speak. "It's okay. I wanted him here."

The couple tossed aside the small duffel bags they were holding—they'd clearly just gotten off a plane—and ran to the woman's bedside. Tracy started sobbing. "Oh my poor girl," she cried. "What happened? They didn't tell us hardly anything on the phone... we got here as soon as there was a flight."

"Holy-!"

Security was here.

"Leave him alone," Astrid said, mustering her strength. She reached out with her bandaged arms and took as firm a hold on one of his giant hands as she could, grabbing it possessively.

"S-sir, I'm going to need for you to exit the premises..."

Hound felt Astrid's fingers close tighter around his. "No," she stated firmly.

"Astrid..." Richard tried calming his daughter. "Let us take care of things for now."

"Dad, _no_. He saved me, we're dating, and I want him here, dammit! If you can't deal with that, then _you're _the ones that need to leave."

The Autobot jerked back around to face his girlfriend in the hospital bed, and felt himself grow even hotter in the parking lot outside; uncomfortably so. Hound opened his mouth to speak and... nothing came out.

The room was silent except for the hum of the machines.

"Sir..."

"H-hold on a minute," Tracy snapped at the guard, who was just as confused and dumbstruck as everyone else, as he stood in the doorway. She turned back to her daughter, and Hound felt her grasp tighten even more. "You're _what?_"

"We're dating," she repeated, quieter this time. "Boyfriend, girlfriend, the whole thing. He has every right to be here as you. You couldn't forcibly remove him even if you tried, too."

Hound's spark was trembling with... with something. Or rather, everything. Emotion, fear, indignation, pride, shame. And still, he had no words. What was he? Friend or foe? Stability or addiction? Human or alien? No... definitely not human. The look in her parents' eyes told him that loud and clear.

"You just rest up, sweetheart," Richard cooed. "We can talk about this later."

The mech saw Astrid was weakening again, and would probably be drifting off to sleep again in a few minutes.

"There's nothing _to_ talk about," she murmured. "I care about him, and he cares about me. The rest... the rest will probably be in the papers."

–

Hound had quickly made it obvious that there would be no physically removing him from the room unless he decided to leave, and so the guard, doctor, and two nurses eventually left them alone to ponder Astrid in silence as she slept. He noticed the sun had finally come up.

Tracy and Richard weren't even acknowledging his existence now that their daughter wasn't "present". They were sitting in chairs opposite the bed from him, where he knelt. They kept their eyes down, and he could tell they were fighting off sleep.

The mech noticed, now that things were quiet, that he was incredibly tired as well; he'd been overclocking himself for what, 14 hours, now? And 46 hours without energon... that'd take its toll on any bot in his size bracket. Hound was quickly slowing down, and wasn't sure how many more hours he could keep up the holograms without some kind of recharge.

Astrid's mother touched her husband's hand as it rested on the armrest of the uncomfortable chair, and stood up. "I'm going to get us some coffee," she announced softly, deliberately avoiding looking at Hound as she left the room.

The tenseness in the room grew thicker when it was just him and Richard alone together. The man had a presence, that was for sure. Not just a presence, but a _presence_. His face, neatly creased and folded by age, tanned and wind-worn. Bright white hair was tied back in an unassuming ponytail; it rested on the collar of a shirt that had been neatly pressed as soon as it was taken out of the laundry. Hound was almost sure this guy, just short of six feet, could have beaten him down with naught more than a look and a word.

"You've played us all for fools," he said quietly. The mech knew this man's strength didn't lie in volume. The disappointment and sadness in his tone pierced Hound's spark chamber, and he felt like he was suddenly laid bare before him. He wanted to get down on the floor and beg for the man's forgiveness. "You got a name?"

"H-Hound... sir."

"If you can feel like she said you could, then I hope you're happy with yourself, Hound."

Oh, Primus.

The Jeep slumped down, holo fizzling some at the edges, and buried his face in his hands. "I-I treated her well," he whispered frantically, exasperated. "I never meant for this to happen... I never meant for her to get hurt, I... I'd give my life for her any day of the week..."

Outside, the Jeep in the parking lot was rocking back and forth, coiled tight as a spring. The last of his energy burned painfully, aching in his hidden servos and joints. He almost wanted to just use it all up then and there and fall into stasis lock; the guilt was too much to bear.

Richard just studied him and didn't utter another word until Tracy returned with two cups of coffee.

"Thank you, dear."

Hound couldn't take it anymore. It felt like his chassis was... was filling up with mud. He felt stifled and paralyzed; he felt like he wanted to claw his paint off or gouge out his other optic.

"I can't be here anymore," he murmured, meeting the hard gaze of Astrid's parents. "If she wakes up while I'm gone, tell her I'm coming back, please."

With that, he disappeared from the room and took off out of the parking lot.

–

_Jazz? Trailbreaker? Beachcomber? Are you all still here?_

_Hound?_ Jazz's ID flashed in his mind with the message. _We're on our way to your place right now, and Skyfire's inbound for our pick-up. Did you want an update?_

_No... I think I'll be joining you, actually._

_Really? I thought you were-_

_Her folks flew in. _

The silence told him that Jazz understood.

_I'll meet you all there._

It was only about 10 minutes before he turned onto the stretch of road that the warehouse was located on some lots down. Hound crept along slowly, sending feelers out to see if anything was amiss. It didn't take much for him to notice that there were three black SUVs parked the small lot. The other Autobots were approaching behind him.

Well, there was no use for the black paint job anymore, so he let it go and transformed as agents presumably caught sight of them and began exiting their vehicles. Hound's monocular vision was starting to bother him again.

Behind him, he heard the others transform as well, and soon the sound of tires on asphalt was replaced by heavy footfalls. A hand was slapped on his shoulder, and he turned to see Jazz's visor give a little flash; his face, though, was solemn.

"We've got Prime and Prowl on our side with this one," he said. "Let me do most of the talking, alright?"

Hound averted his eye down and away. "Arguing is the last slaggin' thing I wanna do right now, so be my guest," he mumbled.

"Gentlemen!" called one agent as they neared the property, and stopped just outside the driveway. Hound folded his arms across his vehicular chest bitterly as he stood back to watch the exchange. The black-suited man showed himself: of course it was Doley. "I hope you all know that we have orders now to take you to Nevada for some _workplace productivity re-training_."

What? Hound didn't like the sound of that at all...

"Can it," barked Jazz. "I got off the horn with my superiors not 15 minutes ago who said we're off the hook."

Agent Doley gave them a poisonous look as he addressed another suit behind him. "Nowak?"

"On it," she said, pulling out a sat phone and dialing up. Doley and the bots were staring each other down as they listened to her conversation. They would have been listening in, but the signal seemed to be protected. "Sir, we've got units 5, 12, 17, 19, 28, and 32, here. They're claiming... uh-huh... right. Yes, sir."

Hound was fidgeting with anxiety. What were they in for? What was the verdict? Oh please Primus he couldn't be taken away from Astrid now...

"They're right," she declared as she put the phone away.

Hound's spark, which had been wound up tight enough to cease its nuclear fission and collapse into a black hole, relieved itself of some of the pressure that had been building up in its casing. A rush of hot air escaped him and he slumped. Beachcomber and Trailbreaker took quiet notice of this and gave a little physical reassurance; it helped, but not enough to stop his hands from shaking.

"You need us, and you _especially_ need him," Jazz said. "Guess the Bureau decided that it wasn't worth throwing the baby out with the bathwater after all- his holo skills are the best this planet's got, so you better treat him with some respect."

Doley, and none of the other 5 agents that were crowded around said a word.

But Hound was impatient for this to end. He took some uneasy steps forward, nearly pushing past Jazz as he made for the warehouse. "I need energon," he muttered, not bothering to stand up straight as he headed around to the side for the bay entrance.

He opened up the double doors remotely and ducked down to step inside. The rest of the bots followed him, and he was sure he heard the sound of some of the SUVs starting their engines. The lights were all on inside, and three more agents were scurrying about when Hound pointed at the door. "Out. We're in the clear."

The just looked at each other and filed out the front, but Hound was busy reaching for the energon filling station (powered by solar panels on the roof) where a cube was produced for him; he took it to the table and damn near collapsed into a chair.

The warehouse was silent as the Jeep took a moment to sit there, letting the piece of oversized furniture support his dead, exhausted weight. Slowly, his fist began to pound the surface of the table, harder and harder, before he sat up again, took a drink, and stared at the table.

"Burn out," he murmured, still not taking his optic off the clean, white surface before him. "Complete and total burn out." Hound shook his head a little. "I haven't felt this way in millennia." Still, silence. Cliffjumper shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but that was it. Were they listening to him? It almost didn't even matter. "The last time I remember everything going wrong was when we lost Tyger Pax. Remember that?"

"She's still alive, Hound," Trailbreaker offered. "There's something gone right." Okay, so they were listening.

"Humans are more intense than we'll ever be," he continued. "The look her father gave me was harder to take than all the looks from any superior officer I've had. His disappointment crushed me harder than even Prime's."

"You're intimidated because you were looking in the eye someone who cared about her just as much, and maybe more, than you do." Hound was surprised to hear this coming from Jazz.

"I was intimidated because I've got blood on my hands, and he knew it." The mech was surprised to hear the words leave his vocalizer.

"You can't go blaming yourself for this," Skids jumped in. "It'll drive you mad."

Hound thought about it for a moment.

"She needs you, daddy-o. Don't you be throwin' in the towel now."

"I... I don't know," was all that came out. He took another big gulp of energon, his body relaxing some as it reinvigorated itself and became preoccupied with putting this energy to use.

"Our ride's here," Jazz said. "Skyfire just checked in. Look, I'll prepare a packet from our meeting with the PD for you to look over tonight, how does that sound? You're their main contact now, by the way. If there's any progress made on the case, you'll be the first to hear about it, okay?"

The green mech nodded.

"And you should put yourself in to have that optic repaired soon. Bluestreak can stick you on another cargo plane when you're ready." Hound didn't verbally respond to that either, which Jazz didn't seem to like. "_At attention, officer._"

Hound, by no conscious coordination of his own, jumped up from his seat and stood tall, staring straight ahead.

"You need to get over yourself," Jazz sighed. "As your second-in-command, I need you to be alert and focused on this mission, especially if this is what we're going to be dealing with from now on."

"Yes, sir."

" And as your friend... I want you to be happy."

"...yes, sir."

"At ease."

Hound slumped back down into his chair and his gaze settled back down to where it was before. His fingers coiled themselves around his drink.

"We'll see you again soon, ya green bastard."

And with that, they filed out, leaving him alone for real this time.


	10. Dust in the Wind

Not a whole lot was said over the next 2 days; the hospital room was eerily quiet despite being occupied by 4 people much of the time.

Once Astrid had come-to entirely, the TV was turned on and stayed that way the whole time. She mostly wanted to watch the news in silence, as she didn't much feel like talking to Hound about what had transpired... especially in front of her parents.

"A fire caused by an explosion late last night in Wasilla killed two people, and gravely injured a third," the field reporter opened during the 10am news hour. "Authorities say that the blaze was no accident, and the suspect is still on the loose." Cue narration and a montage of interview footage. "An eyewitness gives his account."

"I was just settling down to sleep," an interviewee explained. "And I hear this loud, loud noise. My wife and I both jump out of bed, you know, and we make sure the kids are okay. The dog's barking, my daughter's screaming... I look out the window and see the house across the street is up in flames. You know? So I run outside, and see all these other folks running out in their pajamas too, to see what's going on. It was somethin'. I never been so scared in my life."

"Firefighters soon arrived to put out the blaze, and found the homeowners, Randy and Elana Colburn, dead at the scene. Their bodies, burned with the aid of an accelerant police say, were identifiable only by dental records. A young woman was also found inside the house. She managed to escape with moderate injuries, and is currently being treated at-"

"Honey, why don't you turn that thing off," Tracy suggested curtly. She got up, without waiting for an answer, and pressed the power button herself. The screen went black. "I don't know how you can watch that. Would you like breakfast? How about we go downstairs and get you some breakfast."

Astrid opened her mouth and realized that her tongue was dry. Her lips were chapped too.

"Tomorrow," she said flatly. "I'm allowed to have breakfast."

The room fell silent again.

"You two look horrible. Go get something to eat," Astrid murmured at length to her parents.

After a moment of hesitation, the couple stood up tiredly and left, closing the door gently behind them. When they were gone, Astrid let out a long sigh, closing her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Hound's voice sounded from her left. "You don't need anything?"

She just sort of stared ahead and at the blank television screen. "Any word from anyone?"

"Don't you worry about it. Not yet."

There was a painful awkwardness in his voice, she could tell. It was as though he were more disturbed by this whole situation than she was.

The situation...

What had happened exactly?

It was like a dream to her now. Hallucinations she'd seen while in a trance, visions that were already beginning to slip away from her. Vaguely, she was distraught, but every time she made a concerted effort to remember, something gently kept her from doing so. Like an impenetrable wall made of warm air and cool pillows. She was beginning to doubt her knowledge about what was on the other side of that block, but the pleasantness of staying put and not pursuing was too nice to ignore.

Suddenly, though, a great fear overwhelmed her, and she sucked in a haggard breath. Out of nowhere, Astrid was convinced she was going to die at any moment, and made to sit up in preparation of it.

"What's wrong?" blurted the mech. One of his giant hands rested on her arm as every sensor he had instantly trained on her. "What's the matter? Should I call a nurse?"

Astrid felt her heart pounding in her chest as she glanced about the room. These were her final moments, she was sure of it. Every skin cell was screaming in anticipation of unfathomable pain...

"I-Is there an extinguisher in here?" she breathed.

"Yes, yes! There's one right beside me here," sputtered the mech, hastily readjusting his sitting position so she could get visual confirmation of his claim. "It's right here."

False alarm, she was safe. The panic left her as quickly as it came, leaving her cold and out of breath.

"Babe, you're okay. You're with me. You're okay."

She watched as he took her hands up in his. Each black, articulated palm was wider than the span of her own hand from thumb to pinky. The gentle pressure he was exerting on her extremities was calming.

"I'm okay," she whispered. "Hound?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have a hug?"

"Of course."

There was something comforting about his body blocking out the view of the outside world as he twisted around to wrap his tree trunk arms about her. All was dark as he held her to him, and all was silent except for the soothing thrum of his mechanical heart. They stayed that way for some minutes.

"Your parents are coming back," he whispered, letting go to resume physical detachment.

Astrid understood, but she looked at his face as they opened the door, and saw his hologram's optics fall to staring at his own knees. He seemed... angry.

–

The following mid-morning, Astrid was discharged. She was given very specific guidelines to follow for her arm and burns, prescriptions to fill, a sling, and suggestions that follow-up appointments be made soon. Tracy had gone out at some point while Astrid was napping and bought her some new clothes to wear home (pajamas and a warm jacket), which was just as well; she had no interest of seeing what she had entered the hospital wearing.

Astrid felt strangely normal as she was escorted out of the building by her mother and father. Hound had disappeared himself upon them leaving the room; it was just assumed between the two of them that she would be riding with him. So imagine her irritation when her parents directed her toward their rented car.

"Where are you going?" Richard asked when she broke away.

She trudged toward the Jeep, whereupon the passenger-side door opened up for her. "I'm riding home with him."

"No you're not," snapped Tracy. "We're taking you back."

"We're all going to the same place. You can follow us." Astrid didn't feel like arguing, so she stepped in and closed the door.

"How long are they here for?" Hound's voice sounded around her.

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"Uhm... the commissioner wants to know if you would prefer they question you at home or at the precinct tomorrow morning." It didn't occur to her that she was incredibly lucky to be offered a choice at all.

"I don't... whatever you think is best."

"Okay."

They pulled out of the parking lot with Tracy and Richard close behind.

"Astrid, if there's anything at all that you need, you know you can come to me, right?"

She nodded.

"And if... for any reason, you don't think that this will... uh... if you think that your life would be better w-"

"Shh," she said, her breath fogging up the window. Astrid knew what he was going to say with the first two words out of his vocalizer. She could hear the pain there. Her response wasn't satisfactory, though, so she put it out of her mind. "I just want to listen to your drive right now." And so he drove.

Astrid had spent the past 36 hours stuck in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Nothing seemed real and consequential enough.

She looked down and considered her bandaged hands for a few minutes, turning them over under her own glazed eyes, distantly noting the dull throbbing when she moved her left arm. Baths, the doctor recommended. And no hot water. No hot...

She swallowed.

The warehouse was concrete... steel and concrete and rebar. Glass in the windows. Wood, where was the wood? _In the kitchen_. _And the office..._ She'd just have to be careful in those areas. Very careful.

The hospital room had been quiet, but not as quiet as inside the cabin of the Jeep. Astrid wanted to stay in there for the rest of the week. Her parents be damned.

"Hound?"

"Mmh?"

"Things are going to be weird for me for a while."

"You take as long as you need."

–

_We're going to need someone else._

The diminutive robot crouched down in a cluster of thick pines, obscured from the road (deserted as it was) by hardy undergrowth. Its body was smooth, and had an almost feline quality to it, with no distinguishing marks on its otherwise perfectly chromed armor plating, giving the impression that it almost could have been made of liquid mercury.

_I've exhausted our... current option._

The "voice" on the other end of the communication wasn't happy at hearing this news. _That was your chance, Codec. I'm disappointed. And I don't like you leaving loose threads._

The silver mech bristled. Literally; a ripple fell down the curve of its hunched form, and a few dull spikes appeared, following the crests of the small waves before melting back down. _I know, I know. But I also know that you wouldn't have me scrapped so easily. I'm a pretender, remember? I provide you with a very _unique_ service that you need. And while this backfiring may sound like a disaster, there is a silver lining...  
><em>

_I'm listening._

_Autobot-BREME relations have taken a grave hit without so much as a mention of Decepticon activity. This can only work to our benefit.  
><em>

_...And the rest?  
><em>

It smiled, a mouth appearing on its featureless face, bearing countless teeth and a glowing red gullet.

_The survivor I can easily deal with; I'll have access to her again in no time. As for the Watch, they aren't going to want to deal with us after this, obviously, so I say we withhold payment until they cooperate again. They're desperate for something- give them a few days and they'll cave._

_Your samples of the enzyme were destroyed; you have no bargaining chip._

_I managed to salvage one when I fled. It's safe for now._

_Remind me why you insist on working with these humans. Remember that I appreciate simple logic._

_It is: they take the heat, and we take the ship. Beautiful, isn't it?_

_Quite. Your plan had better work, Codec. I have no use for subordinates who cannot perform as required... pretender or not._

The small, sleek robot laughed aloud; it was a hideous sound like paper being torn, gears grinding, and the breathless sputtering of suffocation.

_You have so little faith in me, Soundwave..._


	11. Old Man

_Oh crap, story cover implementation? Kickass. I'll be doing this for both stories... eventually, lol. Gotta figure out what the covers would be first, haha._

* * *

><p>The Jeep groaned when he turned onto their street and spied news crews parked about the warehouse. Astrid saw what was going on a few seconds later- he sensed her facepalm and groan too.<p>

"It was bound to happen," she muttered, sliding down the seat into a slump.

He slowed to a crawl when the reporters spotted them and started up their equipment, tinting his windows to near opaqueness and driving right on through them, into the lot, and through the security locks. Hound didn't pause for a moment to give into the journalists pointing their microphones at the vehicle and shouting questions.

The lock was only big enough for the one vehicle, though, and so Astrid's folks, in their rental car, were left behind.

"I'll let them in through the side door with the holo," he muttered as his human took a shaky step out from the cab.

The man in the sunglasses materialized behind the human-sized front door (which was not as innocuous as it looked) and promptly opened it, his glance greeted by a bit of chaos out front.

The reporters and news crews were swarming the rental car (there were fewer than ten of them altogether, but it was enough to be intimidating). Tracy and Rich were still inside, trying to figure out where he had disappeared to when the two of them, and the crowd, noticed him waving his arms about.

"Sir! Is there any chance we can have a word with the Autobot or Miss Schneider!"

"Who are you in relation to the victim? Can we get an interview?"

"I'm with the Daily Sun, would you be willing to grant us an exclusive-"

"No, no, no, and no!" Hound's holo snapped as Astrid's parents rushed in through the door behind him, which he promptly closed as soon as he was able.

"Who are you?" demanded Tracy as she composed herself and set the bags down at the end of the hall near the kitchen.

"I'm him," the man in the cowboy had stated simply, and pointed to himself kneeling on the ground. He switched the holo off and rose up to his full height. His girlfriend's parents were not particularly impressed.

Astrid, who was standing behind his leg in a way that obscured her from being seen by the two, stepped out from behind him, occupying all the space of a wisp of fog.

"Let me set you up in the office," she said with detectable lassitude, pursing her lips in preparation for the journey up the stairs.

"Inverted floorplan?" Richard asked, picking up his minimally packed duffel bag.

Astrid nodded.

"You know what, just tell us where the bedding is and we'll make ourselves at home. No need to strain yourself."

She didn't appear to have much of a problem with this. "Cabinets are to the left of the office."

–

Rest of the afternoon was both lazy and tense. As soon as the media had finally left them alone, Tracy and Richard ventured out to stock up on food and other things. Richard cooked dinner (Hound noticed that Astrid was nervously preoccupied by the use of the stove), Tracy cleaned the place, very warily avoiding Hound's end of the space. She tried making small talk about having never cleaned concrete before.

Astrid had a bed made out of the couch, and was waited on, hand and foot, by her parents before they retired upstairs for the night.

When they disappeared and settled down, Hound quietly sat himself down beside Astrid on the couch, leaning back against a thick, metal pole that supported part of the mezzanine. He'd spend his spare moments throughout the afternoon and evening going over Jazz's report, writing up memos of his own to send back to AHQ in the data packet.

He sat and stroked her arm with his thumb as gently as he could while he worked. An hour after Rich and Tracy had gone to bed, Hound stopped what he was doing, feeling a little uneasy himself, and instead delved into a wireless connection to the internet, eventually finding himself at the threshold of a video website. There, he searched, and quickly found documentation of the previous Friday night. He saw countless still images of fire lighting up the night sky, sparks and embers and firefighters swirling around the camera viewfinders.

But there was something in particular he was looking for- ah yes, there it was: a huge, hulking shadow, its voice demanding the crowd stepped back.

Hound watched himself transform and rise up amid the crowd at least ten times, from at least ten different angles, with a kind of gross fascination. It was the first time that he'd done such a thing, really: looked himself up like that.

It made him feel funny.

"Hound, what are you doing?"

The jeep was jerked out of his own alpha and subroutines. Single functioning optic onlined to see that he had been projecting the video onto the floor in front of him, bathing the two of them in a red and orange glow. As soon as he realized what he'd been doing, the image disappeared, plunging them into darkness.

Astrid's heart was racing and she was drenched in sweat.

The damage had been done.

"I..."

She paused. "Please don't do that again," came a whisper.

His spark banged up against the walls of its chamber like an enraged animal, but he was still. Deathly so. He hated fucking up. He hated it, hated it, _hated it._ If the mech had saliva glands and an esophagus, he had the feeling that he would have swallowed ashamedly here.

"Astrid, I'm sorry, I don't know what I... I'm sorry." A silence. "Are you okay? Do you want me to go away?"

"No... no, I never said that," she sighed. He could tell her lips were chapped. "What were you doing looking up videos of yourself?"

The heat rose in his core. "I just wanted to know what I looked like... to you. To a human. In a situation like that."

"What do you mean?"

"Was I menacing? Was I heroic? The human perspective has always interested me, you know that," he replied softly. "Let's not talk about this now, though. You need to sleep."

"No I don't," she said staunchly. "I don't need to do anything I don't want to right now."

Hound looked down at her, laying on the couch still covered in bandages, and forced a weak smile. "You're right."

It was at times like these, he realized, when it felt like they were the same size.

"I know you," she continued, looking up at the only part of him she could really see: his optic. "What were you looking for in those videos?"

"I dunno..." she had him cornered. It wasn't a feeling he disliked, but finding the words and sorting through his thoughts was difficult. "I... I want to know what I look like to you."

He saw her cock her head a little on the pillow. "You don't..."

His spark twitched. It was sort of a secret, but not really, but also not something that he did all that often or all that consciously. In fact, it was the first time that he'd actually thought about it in such terms, but... "It's a phase I go through sometimes," Hound admitted. "Every now and then, I wish I were human."

Astrid blinked.

"I guess I can't say I... wasn't expecting that." She swallowed. "But right now...?"

Hound realized that his hand had strayed from her side, and consciously returned it to stroke the unbandaged skin so it wouldn't seem like he was withdrawing. Or perhaps to ensure he wouldn't.

"I think it happens when I'm under stress," he murmured. "When really awful things happen."

"Seems normal enough."

"I suppose."

Silence.

"Are you getting your eye fixed soon?"

"I'll schedule something this week. I can't go back to work next Monday looking like this."

"And what about the police report and the case?"

Hound eyed her with faux-suspicion, even though she probably couldn't see him in the dark. "For someone who looked ready to collapse earlier, you sure have energy now."

"This is the first real break I've gotten from _them_," she whispered. Hound knew exactly who she was referring to. "Since you entered into the picture, they've been nothing but draining."

If he had to be quite honest with himself, _they_ were the prime reason his interest in changing species had flared up again like a bad case of the brittles. Before, however, it'd been more theatrical- he wanted to don "humanness" like a costume, free to take it off and go back to being who he'd been for the past million years on a whim. But that singular moment of crushing disappointment in the hospital gave his little obsession a markedly different spin- a far more morbid one.

It occurred to Hound, then, that his desire to join humanity this time around was almost akin to suicide- this was his version of wishing to take his own life. To _stop_ being Cybertronian and become something else altogether. For all intents and purposes...

No.

Hound wouldn't even allow himself to think it. In fact, he was quite disturbed already.

"Hound?" came the small voice beside his left hip plate. "You okay up there?"

"I think it's time we got some sleep," he muttered, patting her arm and returning his hand to his own lap.

"Okay."

It wound up taking a forced shut down to get him to stop thinking and recharge that night.

–

Hound and Astrid had an appointment with Commissioner Phillips after lunch. The Autobot had gotten a note that morning from one of the detectives on the case, letting him know that they'd found something big and needed them to come in after all.

He expected Astrid to be withdrawn and tense, but she wasn't as bad as he was expecting, and during the ride, her heart rate remained surprisingly normal. Still, he couldn't help but worry.

Richard and Tracy also insisted on coming with them, even though they'd be stuck waiting in the lobby the entire time. Not unexpectedly, they insisted on taking their own vehicle.

"Are you sure you're okay with doing this now? You don't have to." His disembodied voice sounded around her as she sat in his front passenger seat.

Astrid shook her head and furrowed her brows, looking straight out over the dashboard. "I _do_ have to. Otherwise I'm going to start forgetting things and won't be of any use to anybody. Those... th-those people in the..." she was starting to stutter, which Hound didn't like. He noted that her breathing had suddenly hastened. "The couple that lost their lives," she said finally, after a pained moment of trying to find good words, it seemed. "Their families are relying on me being able to do this too."

She was wanting to do that for the pair that had helped hold her hostage? _Wow,_ he thought.

"Okay. But as soon as it gets to be too much, don't be afraid to stop the interview, you got it?"

She nodded and opened the door.

–

Hound left her to have a quiet moment with her parents before starting with the detective in a questioning room; he knew they'd be in there for a few hours.

"So what's this big piece of evidence that you found, exactly?" Hound, in his holoform, asked the Commissioner as they came to the end of a hallway.

Phillips opened the door and switched on a light, revealing what looked to be a large storage room.

And in the middle of that room was parked the white van.

"Oh my," the holo said. "You mind if I..?"

"That's why we called you here."

He stepped closer to the vehicle, and immediately noticed something odd about it. It was dirty, in a way. He ran his finger around the bottom corner of the windshield at a little gunk he saw there. It was almost as if...

"We found it in the river," Phillips announced, donning a pair of latex gloves as he too, drew near.

"So, silt."

"Yep."

"How'd you find it?"

"Local noticed tracks on his property going into the water. Whoever did this was in a rush."

"No kidding," Hound said, opening up the back doors and taking a peek inside. Immediately, his sensors homed in on some tiny droplets of blood on the floor. "You swab that?"

"DNA results aren't in yet, I'm afraid."

"I'm betting it's Astrid's," he murmured quietly. "What else did you bag?"

"A couple hairs and some fibers, mostly. Prints were pretty damaged, but we did manage to find a set that were particularly odd."

"How so?"

"Well, they were prints without the prints. Blank fingers. And they weren't burned off neither."

_Pretender_.

"The van isn't the reason we called you, though. Found something else in the back that, quite frankly, has forensics _stumped_."

"Oh?"

"In here."

Hound followed the Commissioner into an adjacent room; a small lab with a single staffer.

"Hound, this is Lia Carlton, one of our resident forensic investigators."

"Nice to meet you, uh..."

The holo shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

"Lia, if you could show him the canister?"

The technician immediately lit up at this, piquing Hound's interest even more. She turned around and fetched a large box from a shelving unit from the rear of the lab, and set it down on some clear counter space.

"Okay, this thing we can_not_ figure out at all," she said, undoing the flaps. "It's clearly man-made, but it's a bizarrely heavy-duty container for what it currently contains."

Hound peered down inside and saw, well, a canister. It was large, about 30 inches in length and 32 inches in circumference from what he could tell at a glance. It was metal, and if indeed man-made, then it was certainly an expensive piece.

"As you can tell, the mechanism for opening and locking it is pretty sophisticated," she noted as he lifted it up out of the box after putting on some gloves himself—not that he actually needed them.

"Looks pretty custom," he said, turning it around under his gaze. "Have you opened it?"

"Yeah, there's just this weird black dust inside, though. Looks to me to be some kind of silicate or something. Results aren't in just yet, and even then, it might take a little brainpower to figure out what it's used for."

"In other words, pretty fancy stuff for something that looks about as expensive as dirt," the Commissioner grunted.

"I wouldn't be so certain," Hound said with a little warning in his voice. "Can I open it?"

"Yeah, just be careful and do it slowly," Lia said.

He undid the excessively complicated series of locking pins and flipped the lid open, peering inside. And sure enough, there was the black dust. He couldn't tell how much there was, but it was not an insignificant amount, that was for sure.

"Would you mind if I brought this around back so I could do a spectro-analysis of my own? I hate to say it, but I'm probably faster than whatever equipment you've got."

Lia looked confused. "What are you... huh?"

The Commissioner nodded. "Yeah, come on around, we'll open the door for you to get a good visual on it."

Hound dissolved his holo; if Lia hadn't yet gotten an explanation, he was sure she was getting one now. The jeep pulled around back and transformed outside of the forensics lab, tapping on the sliver of a window with an oversized finger. A moment later and the storage room opened, Phillips holding out the open canister.

Lia was in visible shock.

"Save it," the Commissioner said as Hound chuckled a bit to himself, focusing on his task. "And wow, what happened to you?"

The mech broke concentration for a moment, poking around his obliterated optic socket casually. "Hey, guns can hurt us too, you know." And then he was back to it.

The analysis took only a few seconds, which wasn't surprising. He _was _built for this sort of functionality, after all. What was surprising, though, was that he was instantly greeted by red. And lots of it.

His fore processors and alpha routines were suddenly overrun by a panicked swarm of warnings from somewhere deep in his earliest field programming.

_1x0010100030000_

_HIGH ALERT: _

_RED DEATH_

_RED DEATH_

_RED DEATH_

_RED DEATH_

_RED DEATH_

_RED DEATH_

_RED DEATH_

_RED DEATH_

_RED DEATH_

Hound jumped up—literally—from where he knelt, and backed away. His spark was undulating with fear.

"Y-you need to close that container right now, and you need to put that away in a medical containment facility. Or better yet, destroy it."

Phillips and Lia looked at each other, the color draining from their faces. They'd stiffened with all the ferocity of rigor morits. The technician took several steps away from her boss, who just held the container, the expression of a man who was looking death in the face carved in his visage.

"Hound," he said, mustering calm. "You need to tell me what it is that I'm holding right goddamn now."

"Close it," the Autobot commanded.

Phillips did so with shaking hands and set the thing down on the ground so that he could step away from it just as Hound and Lia had done.

"Would you tell us what it is, dammit!" Lia cried out.

"It's as inert at table salt to you," he said, keeping his distance. "But if so much as a pinch touches me, I'm dead in two days." Staring at it, as harmless as it looked to them, was like staring down the barrel of Megatron's fusion cannon.

"_Jesus Christ!_" Lia yelled, beginning to pace. "You scared us half to death. My god, I was planning out my last phone call to my fiance for fuck's sake," she breathed. "AND to the call to the Disease Control Center."

"Yeah, well, I'm not so safe, am I?" Hound snapped, taking another step back for effect and glowering.

"Alright, alright!" Phillips said, picking up the canister and handing it to Lia. "You, go put this back in that box." He turned to Hound. "And you, get back in here with that hologram thing of yours so we can talk about what this means."

"Gladly," the Autobot said, turning away. He parked as far from the station as the range of his holoprojector would allow before returning.

Something wafting in the air caught his interest for a moment, though, just as he was about to switch on his holo. There faint sizzle of electricity in the air; he could smell it like a bloodhound with a corpse. _Odd_, he thought to himself, doing a rudimentary scan of the immediate vicinity before packing up his minor suspicions and returning to what he was in the middle of doing before.

"You didn't happen to find anything else in that van, did you?" Hound walked back into the lab and noticed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter set beside Lia's computer. Looks like she was going to be taking a break as soon as Phillips would let her.

Phillips turned, mustache bunching up to make it look even bushier as his face twisted up in confusion. "No, just the canister. Why?"

"Something around here smells like our tech, and whatever it is, it's running." Hound pulled his consciousness back into his vehicle form one more time to do another sweep, noticing a minute change in the airborne energy signature. And then it hit him like a ton of lead. "Someone's here," he whispered. The holo's mouth fell agape before pushing past the Commissioner and darting down the halls of the station.

"Who's here-?" Hound was gone before the words even left Lia's mouth.

_Got to find where they've got her... got to find..._

Hound didn't even bother with imitating the physical limitations of a human body anymore. He was running through the walls, sweeping the rooms for the heat signatures of people. The smell was growing stronger. It was only a matter of time before he had the place in an uproar, panic over the PA system about some nutcase who could phase through matter or a ghost or something. Whatever was the first thing to come to mind.

The station was bigger than he thought. Top two floors were of no use to him, so he dropped—literally—down to the first basement and into a pitch black storage room. It reeked, but the residual energy was strong in here, so he flipped on the light.

His false human eyes were greeted by the sight of an officer on the floor, propped up against the wall, his head bent in an awkward position. Dead. In his hand had been two bottles of water, which he'd only left for a brief moment to retrieve for the young woman who was helping him fill out the report...

_No, no, no, no..._

The holo phased out of the room and into the main corridor. Some 30 feet away, he caught a brief glimpse of a man, identical to the murdered officer, complete with water bottles, enter a room and shut the door behind him.

"_NO!_"

Hound dissolved his holo and materialized it inside the interrogation room behind the doppelganger, not even giving him enough time to spit out whatever his stupid slagging tagline was before putting him into a chokehold with lightning speed.

Astrid, who'd been seated on the other side of a table in the middle of the sparse room jumped up from her seat noiselessly, watching for a second.

"Oh my god, Hound what are you _doing!_"

The imposter reached for his walkie-talkie in spite of the hold and his choking, rasping voice. "Backup downstairs! Room-" Hound didn't let him finish.

_WHAM._

Hound's holo threw him down, head-first into the edge of the heavy table with a crack. Astrid shrieked, but soon noticed that it wasn't his skull that gave in, but the wood...

"Get up," the mech demanded when the man just lay there. "I said _get up!_"

The imposter just lay there, but his mouth curled up into a smile and he started to laugh. "_Shut up_," Hound growled, lifting up his booted foot to bring it down onto his ugly face... but this guy was fast. In a flash he'd whipped around and grabbed the holo's foot, throwing Hound to the ground as well. Before he even got the chance to recalibrate himself to zero-mass, the imposter was on his feet, sidearm held to Astrid's temple as he clutched her.

"So you're here to finish the job," he spat from his vantage point on the floor.

"Hound," Astrid peeped.

"What can I say? If I make a mess, I like to clean up after myself."

"Hound..."

The mech's fine-tuned sensors caught him squeeze the trigger then, with, he predicted, three tenths of a second until the weapon actually fired. Hound didn't actually know that he understood this—only the most perceptive of mechs functioned that way—but he acted.

Once again ignoring the limitations of a real human body, he leapt across the table and with arm outreached, he phased his hand into the barrel of the gun and proceeded to fill the empty cavities he could touch with cement.

_Click._

Nothing.

"You of all mechs should know to not underestimate the versatility of holomatter." Hound muttered.

He flipped the gun around in his hand, not taking his eyes off of Hound's hologram; butt facing Astrid now. In an instant, he lifted his arm to hit her with it, but before the Autobot even raised his own, Astrid turned around in his loosened grip and took her palm to the underside of his nose.

"_Ayaagh!_" he cried, letting her go. "That's sensitive stuff in there!" He tried to take a swing at her with the gun again, but she ducked out of the way and Hound grabbed him by the forearm. The two of them struggled for a few moments before Hound managed to smash his hand into the wall a few times with a force that left cracks in the concrete. Eventually, the weapon was successfully loosed from his grip and it fell to the floor.

Astrid dove at it before Hound could be overpowered again, and pointed it squarely at him. The struggle immediately ceased.

"Where do I shoot him, Hound," the woman half-shouted, half-asked, her voice shaking with fear and rage. He could see it bubbling in her with his remote eyes, threatening to spill like a reservoir in a hurricane.

"Don't shoot!" Hound blurted. "He's a-"

"I _KNOW_ what he is!" she hissed. "I know _exactly _what he is. Now tell me where it'll hurt most."

"She's kidding, right?" laughed the pretender, stopping his fight against the hologram to enjoy the spectacle, it seemed. Hound did not take advantage of this. "You've got to—"

_BLAM_

The bullet hit the pretender in the eye, tearing the organic-looking organ out from its moorings. No blood, just a gaping, metallic hole. It was suddenly easy to tell where the flesh ended and the Decepticon began.

He let out a mechanized cry that he recognized as a very nasty expletive from back home.

"A-Astrid, put the gun down. You might hurt yourself," he said, trying desperately not to sound patronizing.

"That was for you, though! This is the motherfucker that took your eye, Hound!"

"Astrid! This is not how we do things! My optics are much easier to fix than what a bullet would do to you if it..." Oh dear.

"Right, I almost forgot."

_BLAM_

Pieces of the pretender's uniform exploded over his left arm, revealing more metallic skin underneath his human disguise.

"You stupid human _bitch_!" he yowled.

"Hound," Astrid warned, her hands shaking even more now. "Shut him up otherwise I'm going to empty this magazine at him."

Suddenly, there was pounding at the locked door, and muffled shouting. Astrid's resolve crumbled with every reverberating fist, as though reality were literally demanding to be let in. She lowered the gun and took several steps back.

Hound nodded, a little relieved that she stepped down. Now to complete her request.. how could he put the Con in stasis lock here? The holomatter would be disintegrated if it got anywhere near the pretender's vitals.

"Astrid, unlock the door, right now."

She dashed over to the heavy thing and opened it with fumbling fingers, just as two officers were approaching with a hand-held ram to bust open the door.

"Get out of the way!" she called at them, as they blinked in temporary confusion.

"Hey, what-"

"-he's got-!"

"-a loaded weapon-"

"-that's not-"

"-what happened to Rodriguez-"

"-my god-"

"MOVE!" Hound shouted as he shoved his way past them with the injured pretender firmly in his grip. "Someone show me where the exit is, and fast! And Astrid, if you could..."

She raised the gun and held it to the pretender's head. "On it."

And just like that, they raced out of the building, past the lobby and the reception area, and past Richard and Tracy. Hound noticed them leap up at the sight of their daughter and run out behind them, shouting. But their voices quickly got lost in the cacophony that was the entire police station by that point.

Hound and Astrid, along with several police officers and her parents, along with a few voyeurs, ran to the end of the block, where the hologram fell still and silent. Astrid pressed her gun against the pretender's neck as three more officers had their weapons drawn and pointed at the robot. It only took half a second, though, for Hound to come bounding down the street, all 15 feet of him, much to the surprise of everyone. The real Hound reached down and relieved his holographic self of his burden, holding him up in a much more manageable vice-grip with a single giant hand.

The crowd around him was silent, except for a couple cruisers, lights flashing, that pulled up to handle any street and foot traffic that approached the scene. Hound ignored them all.

"What do you suggest I do with a scrapbag like you?"

The Decepticon spat at him.

"Wow, is that real? Very nice," Hound scoffed. "So you want me to decide for you, or what? Because I know of some _very_ unpleasant ways this can go down."

The thing in his hand just growled, and began to shudder. Seconds later, the man in his hand had shifted and ebbed and ripped into his true shape, which was far more hideous to look at. The people about him responded to the transformation audibly.

"Hear me, pathetic humans!" He bellowed, waving his free arm wildly. "Your end is upon you! The war will soon be over, and victory will belong to the Decepticons! It is only a matter of time before Earth is wiped from the very-"

His undulating, metallic body hit the ground hard, and Hound's foot on his head hit even harder.

The crowd cried out in surprise; that is, everyone but Astrid. Hound had to shut him up, though, and sending him into stasis lock was going to be the only way to do it on such short notice. If soundbites like that made it into the press, it would be pure chaos.

As Hound looked around him, everyone was still and quiet again, looking up at him with awe and uncertainty. It made him feel awkward.

"What in the hell is that thing?" a man said, putting his gun away and stepping out from behind a cruiser. It was Commissioner Phillips.

"In your language, sir, a Pretender. I'm afraid the real Rodriguez is in a storage closet in the basement. You'd better call paramedics, though I don't think there's much they can do for him."

Phillips' face scrunched up, and he diverted his eyes to the ground for a moment; the other police officers did the same. "Lee?" he barked at a subordinate after the moment of silence, who promptly pulled out a phone. "The rest of you, tape off the block! I don't want anyone getting near this thing, snapping pictures of it, nothin'. And Hound?"

"Yeah?"

"I take it you know who to call to get rid of it?"

Hound nodded as though it was a no-brainer.

It wasn't. But he'd figure that out later.

Astrid had neared him, setting the gun on the ground, and he knelt down to get a better look at her. If Autobots had muscles, he'd have been trembling too, he guessed. Their eyes met—three between them—before she leapt up and into his arms.

"I... I don't know what came over me. I-"

"Shh," he cooed into her hair, bringing her up into a kneel against him. "It's over. You did good." Hound held her small form, wishing strongly, but not for the first time, that he could be holding her in a more... human embrace. "You did good."

"It's not over," she said, though, little hands grasping at the corners of his head and the plating of his neck. Her skin was warm, heartbeat oddly mellow.

"What do you mean?" He lifted her away from him some, to get a better look at her face as she was partially perched in his hand. Hound's face scrunched up in confusion; all of what the Decepticon said was to just rile up and scare everyone, right? Work them up into a fear-mongering frenzy? Was there something she knew and he didn't? Suddenly, his face hardened. "What did he tell you?"

Astrid swallowed and looked over to her parents, who had been ushered back behind the police tape. They saw her look there way and waved frantically. "It's why he came back to kill me, so it couldn't go on record. Your word means nothing to BREME right now, so my testimony is crucial."

"And..?"

"Everything he said just now is true."

Hound just nearly short-circuited then and there. "_What?_"

"That mine they're digging? That's not an energon vein: it's a _ship_." She lowered her voice. "And this guy seemed convinced that Megatron is on it."

Ohhh dear Primus. Hound wound up setting her down as he felt a circuit-ache settling in, a kind of panic welling in his spark. "How come you didn't tell me sooner? Why- okay, sorry, that's the wrong question. But..."

"I was in shock. In fact, I'd almost even forgotten about it until today. Most of all, though, I just didn't really-"

"...want to talk about it, I know, I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get upset." The Autobot held his face in his hands and groaned. "But this is way, _way_ beyond me."

She reached out and touched his leg. "Okay, what's the next step?"

"I... I gotta call BREME. And I gotta call Prowl. I don't know who to have handle what, though. BREME isn't going to want AHQ to get anywhere near this." He looked down, past his blond-haired, sun-kissed human, to where the horrible silvery thing lay, now underneath a plastic tarp. His joints and servos tightened as he thought about what he needed to do next, before letting the tension out with a burst of hot air from his tightly packed vents. "But first, I gotta take some initiative."

"What?"

Hound just beckoned her to come with him with a motion of his index digit. "Phillips!" he called over to the commissioner. "I'm going to take that thing from the lab and have it analyzed by my people."

He came over to them. "Make sure we have photos of it on file and a material sample before you do. I know you guys are all up to your eyeballs in secret government _whatever, _but I still have an investigation to conduct here. When are your friends in the suits comin' by to clean up this mess?"

"As soon as I take care of this, sir."

"Well, alright, but we don't have all damn day."

Tracy and Richard, who had been looking on from the sidelines of the scene the whole time, rushed over to the two of them as they stepped over (and ducked under) the tape.

"Oh my god, Astrid!"

"What _was_ that thing?"

"Mom, Dad, you're going to have to take a rain check. We'll explain later."

"But-"

Hound's sudden transformation caught them off-guard, stopping Richard mid-sentence. Astrid gave them a sorry look before hopping into the driver's seat.

–

"What is it?"

"It's an enzyme that eats Cybertronians."

Hound was standing as far away from Astrid as he could while she held the large, airtight container in both hands, looking it over with grim curiosity. "Well, shit," she muttered, swallowing. "Where did they find this?"

"In the van you were taken in; dumped in the river from someone's property. I guess the Decepticon was trying to hide it from us without having to go too far out into the wilderness. Now hold still..."

Poof! The canister dissolved with a faint flash of light from Astrid's grasp, startling her. "Where did-"

"Subspace. It'll be safe there until I can hand it over to Ratchet at AHQ."

Astrid stood there for a moment, swaying a little before deciding to put her hands in her pockets now. Hound could tell she was tense. "Can I come with you?"

He gave her a look. Honestly, the question caught him by surprise... didn't she hate it there, being around all of them? She had such an awful time when they were there last.

"You... _want_ to come?"

"I've just got a hunch that it'll be better than staying here is all."

Hound nodded, then forced a smile. He had a feeling she needed to see one right now.

(She smiled back.)

"This is a... development, that's for sure. They're probably going to want us down there ASAP for some debriefing and tests."

She jerked her head up at him. "And your eye too?"

He chuckled and felt around his mutilated face; he could tell the raw metal and circuitry was already beginning the slow, slow process of patching itself up. Ratchet, however, was faster than nature. "I almost forgot about this."

Astrid laughed, then looked out over at the scene two blocks away. Press was starting to arrive, Hound noted, which was probably his cue to call BREME and disappear.

A chilly winter wind started to come down from the north as the Jeep slipped away down a side road, with Tracy and Richard in tow. A lone journalist caught them just before they turned out of sight and snapped a single photo of him, which would make it to the front page of the morning paper.

_Jazz, you there? This is Hound reporting._

_What's up? You getting everything squared away up there?_

_Well actually, things just got more complicated. We're going to need to pay you guys a visit, like, an hour ago._

_Uh oh. What'd you find?_

_Somebody up here's got bioweapons._

…

_Let me get you scheduled for a BREME drop-_

_No! They have no idea about this yet, and frankly, I don't trust them. Would you?_

_I don't like this, Hound. I don't like this one bit._

_You think I do? I feel like I'm carrying a ticking time-bomb in my subspace compartment here. This can't wind up in Bureau hands, though. Not yet, at least._

_When will you be ready to leave?_

_We only need maybe an hour or two to get ready. You worry about getting us transport._

_Slaggin'... alright. You'll rendezvous with Skyfire in 80 minutes, okay? Coordinates incoming._

_We'll be there._


	12. Ten Years Gone

"Astrid, please! Can you just hold on a minute and-"

"No, mom, I can't. We're getting picked up in little more than half an hour, 20 miles out of town, and I'll be damned if I don't have a change of underwear."

Astrid brushed past her parents standing in the doorway of the bedroom, duffle bag in hand, and headed to the bathroom to grab a toothbrush. No time, no time, no time.

A pair of hands grabbed her by the arms, bringing her to a temporary halt.

"Babe, you've got 5 more minutes and then we have to go!" Hound called from the common area.

She whirled around to face them, ignoring the mech's warning. "You have to trust me on this," was all she had time to tell them.

"God dammit, Astrid, we don't even know where you're going," her father said, looking her straight in the eye with that intense gaze of his. Normally deep and remote, there was pain and worry at the fore there now. It felt like a knife. "Or how long you'll be gone."

The air suddenly felt stifling, and she sucked in a hard breath. "Portland. I don't know for how long. I'll be in good hands, trust me. Tell..." she trailed off. What was she going to say? A pause, an ache in the temples, and it occurred to her. "You haven't heard from Carrie this whole time, have you?"

"N...no, now that you mention it. They helped us buy our tickets. We'll, uh..."

"Please do, but only if they ask."

Richard's hands were gone from her arms and she darted past them to finish packing, something cold and dense in her heart. Leaving a few minutes after that was a surprisingly quiet affair, though Hound made sure to get in a word about letting no one in while they were out before setting off for the remote wilderness foothills.

Astrid spent the drive counting quietly in her head. _One__, __two__, __three__, __four__..._ How many trees on this block? How many birds perched on that telephone wire? How many black cars? Blue cars? How many fence posts marking the property line beside the dirt road after that turn. Hound didn't say anything during the drive either, and it almost felt like she were riding in a normal human-made vehicle. Maybe he was counting things too.

_One__, __two__, __three__, __four__, __five __bandages__._

"And we're here."

Door swung open and Astrid stepped out, dirt crunching under her shoes. A chill north wind had picked up as the afternoon wore on. She shivered.

"He's a few minutes out," said the Jeep. His eye was on a low point in the mountains, but after a few moments she saw him shift focus onto her. "Hey Astrid?"

"Hm."

"What happened earlier today... you're OK, right?"

"I don't... know. I think I'll know later."

"Alright."

"Are you OK?"

The question seemed to catch him off-guard.

"Well," he started, and folded his arms. Though not in a defiant way, but more as if... to keep himself warm, somehow. "You're just worrying me is all."

"I think there is going to be a lot of you worrying about me in this relationship."

He looked at her as though she'd said something off-color, but then just resumed his vigil. "That seems to be the nature of things, doesn't it," Hound said with a sigh on his lips. She thought he was going to fall silent, but wound up continuing the thought. "So long as I'm going to be in a position of physical superiority, or I get in just that many more half-seconds to think, or that I'm always going to have a greater awareness of our surroundings... so long as I have to keep watching where I fucking step... yeah. You're right about that."

_Then_ there was silence.

Or, there would have been, had a sonic boom not torn through the valley and nearly knocked Astrid to her feet.

She looked up, naturally, to where she thought the sound was coming from, but nothing was there. Just clouds of dust being picked up by hot air currents that whipped the trees and her hair about her head both. Astrid was about to open her mouth and ask what in the devil was going on, but it became apparent in a short instant.

The landscape in front of them bent suddenly, and after a second, sharply twisted around in what was nothing short of a violent psychedelic fit. But it started fizzling away, and that sight was familiar to her: Autobot technology.

Before she knew it, her field of vision was occupied by a hulking, white form that glistened in the pale, cloudy light. A plane of sorts... and bigger than any aircraft she'd ever seen. Bigger than any aircraft she knew _existed_.

The hulking form displaced unfathomable amounts of air as it descended, kicking up huge clouds of dust; Astrid had to squint and close her mouth.

It hissed as heavy, squat landing gear emerged from the bottom just before it touched down with surprising skill and delicacy. A 20-foot hatch opened up on the side, like a great squarish mouth, and its tongue was a ramp that extended out to the ground.

"You two had better hop in quick before anyone around gets wise," came a very deep voice from someplace in the aircraft. It caught her completely by surprise, and the low frequency vibrated her innards. Hound gestured with a nod of his head toward the ramp, motioning for her to go first, and so up she trod on the grooved surface.

Inside was just as cavernous as she would have guessed. There were six Cybertronian-sized chairs, three against each wall, that were outfitted with immense harnesses- carbon-fiber, Astrid would have guessed, though it was impossible to tell what it really was. Hound immediately made himself comfortable in one of them and strapped in. She saw that the straps, once affixed, shrunk almost; conforming to his unique body shape for the most secure flight. Nope, definitely not carbon-fiber.

But that left another question: where was _she_ to strap in?

Hound seemingly read her mind as the hatch closed behind her, and patted his leg. "Come on up. Skyfire's vehicle mode wasn't built with humans in mind, I'm afraid."

She fell forward into his knees as the plane quickly ascended, where she righted herself and paused, her heart skipping a beat. Oh god. "Is the cabin pressurized?"

"I can make such accommodations for you, miss," the voice of the plane and pilot sounded around them, almost causing her to jump. "You need only worry about holding on."

A sigh of relief, and Hound hoisted her up onto his lap. "Okay, thank you."

"Hound, I hope you'll excuse my silence during the flight, but I'm sure you understand that I prefer to focus on where I'm going?"

The Jeep whose thigh armor she was nestling down between smiled some as he looked down at her. "That's no problem by me," he replied. "I think we could use a little R&R after all we've been through today."

"Excellent. Now hold on, please." Astrid could feel their ascent slow, and then suddenly with a tremendous shaking, not unlike a human-made commercial airliner taking off down the runway, they shot off; Astrid was sent hurtling backward into Hound's hand as he broke the sound barrier, pressed into him as though she'd been hit by a 100-pound sack of something. She was quite unable to move for some moments until they reached their cruising speed.

Hound chuckled, having watched her through all of that. "You alright?"

"I'm hoping I don't get sick," she murmured, hoping she wouldn't offend. She wrapped her arms around herself when the temperature dropped, tucking her face into the collar of her vest. Astrid tried closing her eyes to nap, but couldn't, and stopped trying after a few minutes. Her eyes wandered instead.

The cabin was dimly lit by only a single luminescent stripe down the middle of the ceiling that threw the far corners of Skyfire's interior into deep shadow. She wondered what all turned into what; where were his arms? His legs and head? What pieces of anatomy did the seats turn into?

Astrid glanced off to her left and down, spotting Hound's yellow stripes in the dimness, almost glowing. She remembered the last time they'd gotten to play: a couple weeks ago. Good, and fun, but only memorable by nature of it being so recent. She looked away. He'd been a little _too_ gentle with her that time, she decided to recall. A little too quiet, a little removed. Almost like he was simply letting off steam. While sitting on the toilet to take her post-coital pee, she thought about why it was slightly less satisfying. Maybe she wanted that sense of danger, the thrill of transgression, and maybe he wasn't capable of giving that to her all the time. Or maybe that was him internalizing even the most irksome subtleties of human behavior in an attempt to become one as much as possible without being flesh and bone.

Or maybe she was just an asshole.

Wait a minute... why the hell this? And why the hell now? _I __literally __almost __died __again __this __morning_, she quietly realized. _And __I __am __seriously __thinking __about __sex__. __I __am _fucked.

Hm.

_Maybe __I__'__m __not __fucked__? __Maybe __it__'__s __all __connected__? __Maybe __I__'__m __one __of __those __traumatized __people __that __does __this __to __make __the __things __that __messed __them __up __safer __to __entertain __and __experience__. _

_Maybe __not__._

_Maybe__..._ and then she remembered the gun. And she remembered shooting Codec with it, and how good that felt. But however good it felt, it was still ten times as terrifying. She absolutely hated every second that she was holding that gun. And yet.

"I think some part of me likes that you have to watch where you step."

Astrid felt him shift under, above, around her. Bending forward to better converse. When she finally looked up to meet his blue gaze, the look on his face was one of confusion.

"What?"

Oh crap. There was a sinking feeling in her gut that told her perhaps she should have kept her mouth shut. "Nevermind."

"No, what do you mean?"

"I- I don't know."

"No, really. I want you to explain. You _enjoy_ the fact that I endanger your life just by being around you?" His expression deepened. It made her feel like a damn fool. "That you've become a target just by knowing me?"

"Fuck," she whispered, inaudible over the rumbling of the engines.

"It's not fun for me, you know. It's always on my mind... the hurt I can cause you, the damage I can do if I'm not careful." Was that his voice trembling? He covered his pale, broken face with his hand. "You know, I've found myself wishing I didn't know you these past few days," he admitted quietly. Astrid swallowed and breathed small, shallow breaths, gazing hard at his knee joints. "Because none of this would have happened to you if it weren't for me. Dammit, Astrid..." he hunched over completely now, encircling her in a pained hug. His mouth at her ear and hand splayed across her back, rubbing in a tiny circle. "I... care about you. A lot."

Emotion squeezed her throat, threatening to choke her. She just buried her face in his side, wrapping her arms as far around his belly as she could, and swallowing hard, said: "If you never knew me, I wouldn't be alive."

Something in him broke, then. His body shook, his vents cycled air irregularly, in gasps almost, and something dripped onto her leg, tingling the skin where it soaked through her jeans. She looked up to find his face scrunched up, optic offlined, and liquid seeping from it and running down his face. His grip around her tightened, clutching her to him. When he sensed her move, he "opened" his eye again and looked at her, drawing his lips into a fine line.

"You're... crying." She reached up to touch the strange tears and wipe a little from his jawline. It shocked her fingertips a little when she did: a warm, numbing feeling. Was it some kind of mechanism by which his body was expelling an excess electrical charge?

In return he lifted his giant hand and softly wiped her cheeks as well with the smooth pad of his thumb. "So are you," he whispered.

Astrid blinked and felt wetness there. So she was.

He straightened up, still holding her close with one arm and wiping his face with the other. "Sorry about that, Skyfire," Hound apologized. "We've been through Kaon and back this past week and haven't really had an opportunity to figure out just what happened."

"No apologies necessary," his voice sounded. "I may be a scientist, but emotions aren't alien to me. Pretend I'm not even here."

Hound's body sighed with a little relief. "How long do we have?"

"Three more breems, my friend."

"A little more than 20 minutes," the green mech translated for her. "If you could take your descent easy, that would be excellent," he suggested. "I don't think she'd be too comfortable with slowing down to 200 miles an hour from thrice the speed of sound in less than a minute. Too many G's without a suit, I'm afraid."

They were travelling _how_ fast?

"Oh, of course. Perhaps make it four breems, then."

"Thanks." He settled back down into a slump around her. "I'm just going to hold you until we get there, if that's alright with you."

"Fine by me," she murmured, nestling as far against him as she could without wedging herself into his body. His arms wrapped around her tightly, shielding her from the outside world.

Skyfire's hangar was absolutely enormous, Astrid noted when they stepped out of the flying mech.

"Welcome back to Autobot Headquarters," the massive Autobot announced. "Now please step back; I'm going to transform."

The two of them took more than one step back; they gave him some 30 more feet of clearance for him to work his magic, and in no time before them stood a winged robot that stood, to her mind, nearly 5 stories tall. Hound, she saw, came up just above the knee.

Another mech, a red and white one about Hound's size, walked in through an adjacent doorway, datapad in hand. He looked up once he entered the space, taking stock of everyone. "Skyfire, Hound, Agent Schneider, they're waiting for you all in the lab upstairs. Hound, you've got the..?"

Her Jeep nodded. "Subspace."

"Good," he said, doing something with the device in his hand in response. "Wheeljack would also like to do a psych evaluation of you two as well while you're here to make sure we're all in good working order. C'mon."

The two of them began to follow the other Autobot; Astrid saw out of the corner of her eye the white jet head in another direction, wondering briefly where he had gone.

Down a hall they went, the footsteps of the mechs sounding about the hexagonal-shaped passage. She could feel them in her own feet. It occurred to her then that her issues about being here, and about being the only human here, hadn't been resolved last time. It didn't help that this red dude was walking at such a robust pace- Hound, she supposed, had gotten her used to him walking at a slow and steady stroll for her so that she could keep up. But now, she was about ready to break into a jog in order to keep from falling behind.

"Psst."

Astrid looked up at Hound, who gestured at his shoulder and then bent over to extend down his hand. She took it.

It was another few minutes before they reached a door that was labelled "lab" in both English and (what she assumed to be) Cybertronian, and below it were placards displaying all sorts of symbols about the potential hazards to be found inside. Corrosive materials, flammable gases, explosives, heavy machinery, high voltage devices, biohazardous substances, radiation, and medical waste.

_Yikes_.

Hopefully not all of that was in there all at once.

Mister Red and White punched the button on what looked to be some sort of intercom in the wall, ten feet from the ground. The pocket doors (everything was pocket doors here) slid open with a _whoosh_ _ka__-__chak__. _Inside was a huge, brilliantly-lit space, strewn with workstations upon which sat all sorts of half-finished projects of various design. Storage lined the walls, though it wasn't your regular cabinetry: they were flat panels, some 8 or 9 feet high, perhaps a foot deep, that were filled with a faintly luminescent, mostly transparent material that seemed to be holding a whole slew of tools and gadgets suspended within it.

_Bizarre__._

The space was currently being occupied by 5 mechs, three of whom she recognized as Jazz, Prowl, and Optimus Prime himself. Jazz was socializing with the other two-another red and white bot, and a grayish one with no mouth-while Prime and Prowl spoke, much more grim in their body language.

"Wow, what happened to you?" The second red and white mech said upon seeing them enter.

Jazz looked over his shoulder and shook his head. "We gotta get you fixed up while you're here."

"Already got him covered," said the other red and white one.

The similarly-colored mech that had escorted them in grunted impatiently. "You all can talk about that tomorrow. I've got a security bank to get back to, and ASAP. Never know who might try to pull something."

The other, and the silver one beside him both laughed together. "Right, as if this isn't important, Red?"

Prowl was growing even more impatient. "If we could cut the chit-chat and focus on the directive at hand," he said, a warning in his voice. As he spoke, Astrid saw his luminous eyes dart in her direction for a moment, flickering with distaste. She stared straight back, but he broke his gaze and shifted focus back to the others.

_I __hate __that __guy__._

The others immediately fell silent and began to form something of a half-circle around one of the countertops. Just then Skyfire, or what appeared to be Skyfire, entered from a different opening. He was... smaller. Much smaller. Only about 20 feet tall, even.

"Apologies for being late everyone," he said, getting in on the formation. "The Alterself machine was malfunctioning somewhat."

"That's alright," Jazz reassured him. "Hound here was just about to show us what he'd found, weren't you, Hound?"

The mech whose shoulder Astrid was astride stepped forward and nodded. "Of course," he said, and extended his arm out toward the table. Then, _poof__!_ the canister appeared on the table with a little wobble as though it'd been dropped a couple inches. "You know, I'd be lying if I said that keeping that on me wasn't one of the scarier things I've done during this war."

Astrid instinctively stroked the back lip of his helm in a most minor attempt to make him feel better.

Prime, who hadn't spoken a word yet, stepped up. "I want to thank you, Hound, for taking it upon yourself to carry out such a thing. I hate to admit it, but... I am glad this weapon is not in Bureau hands."

"I must agree," Prowl broke in. "As foolish a decision it was for someone like you to make, it will undoubtedly provide us with relative safety for now, if not a clear strategic advantage for long-term operations."

"Let's see exactly what the Jeep has stumbled upon here..." The red and white mech whom she'd later come to know as Ratchet took the container off the table and studied it for a few moments before walking over to a sealed chamber and putting it inside so that he could open and manipulate it safely. The others followed. "The Red Death enzyme, you said?" Ratchet reached up toward the ceiling and grasped a cable neatly coiled away and drew it down, where he plugged the end of it into some port on the far side of his head.

"Yes. Revealed by spectro-analysis."

"Let's figure out what strain this is," the mouthless mech, whom would later be introduced as Wheeljack, murmured as he looked at the thing in the case with hard eyes.

Ratchet began manipulating the container with robotic arms inside while folding his own. "We might be able to trace this to a place of origin Cybertron," he replied to his colleague. "If it's legit, that is."

The robotic arms looked to be rudimentary compared to the technology they might have otherwise been capable of, but Ratchet controlled them with such deft skill that Astrid guessed that he was still able to use them as precisely and intuitively as his own.

"We should find out where the container came from," suggested Jazz. "The manufacturer should have the bill of sale in their records."

"The staffer in the forensics lab in Anchorage said this looked like it was made specifically for this job," Hound added. "Whoever made it is also in the business of designing product."

"Red Alert, have Rewind compile a list of all possible domestic companies that fit these criteria, and let me know if we have anyone within a 100-mile radius of those addresses."

"On it." A flash of light from Astrid's right as his datapad came to life.

The canister was open now and a sample was being taken by a needle-like appendage that promptly withdrew into the ceiling. Ratchet turned around and, reaching up again, pulled down a large contraption that appeared to be a series of empty frames welded together. But it only took a second for her to find out that it was a bank of holographic computer screens when they burst to life. Readings from the sample were already available for study, and both Ratchet and Wheeljack were doing just that.

"Fascinating," Ratchet grunted, then whipped around. "Has anyone actually seen what the enzyme looks like under magnification?"

Everyone shook their heads, except for Optimus. Astrid surmised he had.

"Alright, gather 'round. Time for an exobiology lesson."

Everyone, Hound included, got in closer; Hound placed his hand on her knees as he leaned in some. Ratched waved his hand over one of the screens and motioned for it to relocate to the central display. The whole thing was in those strange and foreign characters of their homeworld, but a large graphic in the middle was obvious enough: the Red Death enzyme, neatly rendered in black and white. Something about it was eerie and chilling.

"We," Ratched began. "Are ultimately metal-oxide based life forms, obviously. Red Death is a silicate that assumes a crystalline structure on a hexagonal axis." Astrid realized now why the image gave her the heebie-jeebies: it was so strangely symmetrical and inorganic-looking. "However, it is more complex than that- the molecules bond to form structures that closely resemble, in function, our _nanenes_." Nanenes? "As for symptoms of infection, well... I don't think there's a single Autobot here who hasn't seen this stuff in action at least once. And if there isn't, then suffice to say, it's grotesque."

"It attacks the spark fluid first, right?" asked Jazz.

Ratchet nodded. "Correct. From there it induces a growth cycle that causes a mutation after which it attacks the plating via a crystallization-corrosion process, which causes the "red" part of its name. And fine," he grumped. "In most Cybertronians this necrosis is likely to occur around the spark chamber and the main fluid arteries. So by the time the corrosion becomes visible to the naked optic some 300 breems later in the neck and wrist plating, you're already a dead mech. If it doesn't corrode your CPU and drive you mad, it'll corrode everything else until there isn't much left. And both the dust from the crystallization and spark fluids are highly infectious. Even the Wreckers famously turned down a mission to go into a Decepticon bioweapons plant on CX-07V after a leak there."

"But humans are immune?" Astrid found herself piping up, catching herself a little too late.

"Right," Ratched confirmed. "The initial mutation requires spark fluid. Without a host, however, the enzyme lies dormant until it can find another, and it's ideal environment for reproduction and further mutation is Cybertronian dermaplating. Proper decontamination requires high acidity to break down its structure, which is nearly impossible to administer to living victims without killing them also. It might have the ability to mutate further and find other sources of food here, but at the moment you and your technology are safe."

"That sounds more like a virus than an enzyme to me."

"Well, technically it's neither. Again, it has more in common, structurally, to our nanenes than anything else found here on Earth. Though you're right, it doesn't have many characteristics that would firmly establish it as a life-form, similar to your viruses."

"Skyfire, can you get an ID on it?" Asked Optimus. The white jet had started up a second bank of displays as Ratchet lectured and was analyzing away.

"I'm afraid not," he admitted, trying not to break concentration as he spoke. "The marker I'm finding is boron, which, as far as my data tracks can remember, is not directly indicative of any known wartime Decepticon lab."

"So it's a new strain, then," Ratchet thought aloud. "And a new maker."

Wheeljack shook his head. "Means either they've got a chemist in their ranks with an excellent memory, or someone invented this completely independent of our scientific knowledge."

"So it's no leftover from the war that they might have had aboard their ship," Prowl clarified.

"I can get a date on it, if you'd like."

"Please do that."

"There's one thing I don't get, though," Jazz broke in. "If you say the container was man-made, then why would the contents be Cybertronian in origin? Maybe it would stand to reason that the enzyme was also man-made."

"It would have to be a short-term arrangement," said Prowl. "There is absolutely no evidence to support the idea that Decepticons would willingly ally themselves with any humans. There is just no such precedent for that sort of behavior, and in fact they have willfully shunned such opportunities in the past."

"I wouldn't dismiss it," she said. Images of her captor's house flashed in her mind. "The Decepticon that held me worked with them, though I can't attest to how long that arrangement was intended for."

"Yes, we know," Prowl stated firmly. "Your _companion_ sent us the report about that incident and it's already been evaluated."

Hound butted in, and Astrid spied a glare in his eye. "There's more to it than that, and I think this discovery may only be the tip of the iceberg now. I apprehended the 'con who was in charge of whatever operation this was this morning: a pretender. He's in BREME custody, now."

The lab fell silent for a moment, the silence only broken by the sound of Jazz hitting himself in the face with the flat of his big robot hand.

"You didn't tell me _that_, Hound."

"And here I thought the enzyme was important too," he snarked. Astrid had to hold on when he rolled his head back and shifted his chest around for dramatic effect, but he threw up his arms to stabilize her when he felt her nearly lose balance. "Ah, sorry, sorry."

Red Alert grumbled. "BREME's gonna reverse-engineer that sad sack of parts, just you wait. And when they do, they'll _really_ have no use for us anymore."

"This isn't the time to be freaking out, Red," Ratchet sighed. "Besides, something tells me he'd rather kill himself than help them out."

"Yeah, until they promise him some kind of cushy life and all the energon he wants."

Skyfire stroked his chin. "Surely the Bureau wouldn't dare double-cross us like that?"

"They would," Ratchet said. "They would and they have."

Wheeljack threw his arms up, trying to get everyone back on the same page. "Okay, the bottom line is-"

But Prowl beat him to it. "_The __bottom __line __is_ that we, as an organization and a species, cannot put our complete trust in the people of this planet." Everyone quieted down again. "Hound was right in choosing to bring the Red Death enzyme here without notifying BREME, and leaving them with the Decepticon pretender. That," he said, pointing to the sealed case. "Poses a much more concrete threat to our very existence than the possibility of reverse-engineering, however great that possibility is."

Astrid couldn't help but bristle.

"Alright, alright," Wheeljack grumbled, staring at the screens. "But it still begs the question of who made this and why. A weapon that is only lethal to Cybertronians in the hands of a Decepticon working with humans. That tells us what?"

"That the Autobots are the intended target," Jazz replied.

Skyfire cocked his head in thought. "Or that we are simply the _initial_ target."

Nobody seemed to like hearing that.

"More information is needed," Prowl announced after a long moment of fearful contemplation. He turned to his sole superior, who had stood back and simply monitored the exchange. "What do you suggest our next move be, Prime?"

The blue eyes on the three-story robot shone with dignified concern; but beyond that, he was completely unreadable to Astrid. "Keep that sample under lock and key," he ordered in that compelling voice of his. "Make no changes to our security profile, Red Alert. I don't want anyone from the outside knowing what we've got hidden here; the stakes are too great, now."

"Understood, sir."

"Wheeljack, you see to it that Rewind gets his research order. He's to report his findings to Prowl so that an investigation can get promptly underway."

"Got it."

"Ratchet, Skyfire, and Wheeljack, find out everything you can about that material sample; Hound, Red Alert, Agent Schneider, you're dismissed for the evening. Prowl and Jazz, if you could come with me."

"Sir."

And with that, they dispersed.

"You must be hungry," Hound suggested against the backdrop of late afternoon birdsong. "You haven't eaten since this morning."

It occurred to Astrid from where she remained on his shoulder, that her stomach was incredibly empty. But hungry? "Not really," she replied. The rest of the day, she realized, was going to be quiet and awkward: her words from earlier were beginning to creep back in and weigh her down with doubt.

But suddenly her pocket started vibrating. Hound gave her a look when she reached in and pulled out her phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Astrid? I'm calling from Dr. Donato's office to confirm your follow-up appointment tomorrow at 3."

"Uhh... I'm going to have to cancel that." Crap, crap, crap. She'd totally forgotten about this.

"Okay... would you like to reschedule? We have openings on Monday..."

Awkward. "I'm sorry, but something came up. I'll make another appointment when I'm back in town."

The pause on the line was painful. "Alright."

"Thanks."

"Mhm." Click.

There was a bad taste in her mouth all of a sudden as she put the phone away. She was getting the feeling of too many realities happening at once, and all of them were vying for her attention. Which one was hers? Were any of them hers?

Her eyes fell on the top of Hound's head, green and glinting in sunlight softened by thin cloud cover. What was going on in there? He had to be the point of contact for his own myriad realities clamoring to be the one he saw the world through too. Maybe it was impossible to be sentient without that.

She wanted to say something; wanted to acknowledge the gloomy earfuls they received back in the lab. Confirming it aloud with him would make it real instead of it being this dark, looming thing on the horizon that maybe was there, maybe wasn't. So why didn't she open her mouth and speak? At the same time it felt wrong to do so, because with every word that came out that didn't air the laundry that they'd been trying to clean for weeks now took them one step away from it, and sooner or later that dirty laundry would just be out of reach. And getting back to it would be pain because deep down, her legs were still broken.

Oh, how she wanted to speak, now! But what to address? It seemed as if this decision would damn something either way, condemning that reality to an unspeakable experience. A shameful experience.

Astrid peered down beyond the edge of his chest, past the neatly folded bumper, and down at his hip plating; pronounced so enticingly and so casually by nothing more than his relaxed sitting posture. She watched as that ample junction branched off into two pale silver thighs, robust in their physical capabilities, and awesome even at rest. Those hips, those legs, and those hands were his battlegrounds, where his realities waged their brutal war against one another. And the prosthesis he put there, the decision he claimed to make for her, was the hardest and cruellest fight of all of them. A human appendage grafted onto a Cybertronian body.

She tried imagining him as a human; them as a normal couple.

Maybe he was a firefighter, and they were married, and they owned a small house up in some ski resort town together, the woods their backyard. Maybe his name was Hank or Henry or Tom.

Maybe he was a beer and whiskey sort of guy.

Maybe he was a vegetarian.

Maybe he prefered New England cottage home decor and white picket fences.

Maybe he made pancakes and bacon every saturday morning, and they would go outside onto the back patio to eat breakfast together and read the paper.

Maybe he was haunted by the look on his father's face during his last days of fighting a losing battle with cancer.

Maybe she would have had a partner to go hiking with that would have convinced her to turn back before something bad happened so far from civilization.

Maybe he could have saved her life that way.

_If __all __I __knew __was __a __six __foot __tall __Hound__, __with __soft __skin __and __a __gentle __touch__, __made __of __flesh __and __bone__, __would __I __even __know __to __want __what __I __have __now__? __Why __do __I __want __it__? __Why __have __I __decided __to __like __it__?_

Why didn't she want him to be human, while he wanted nothing _but__?_

Her body, still so freshly injured and violated, didn't hurt now, and the doctors told her she would be in pain for at least a week. Did she like that too? Or was it just some sort of psychosomatic bullshit her brain was pulling because it didn't want her to have a reason to say _this __relationship __is __dangerous __to __me_.

What happened to their differences being fun?

_A __lot __happened__,_ she thought. Her mind-chatter fell silent. _Maybe __he __changed __his __mind__._

His voice, coming from outside of her own head, almost startled her. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," she murmured, and promptly retreated back into her mind. _You__'__re __an __ass__, __Astrid__._ "I'd like some water, though."

"Sure thing," he said, rising up to his feet and starting back for the front entrance to the compound.

A few minutes later, Astrid was standing by the sink in the "human area" of AHQ after letting the tap run for a few seconds to get rid of the orange color that had settled in the pipes. Comfortably low tech.

Suddenly there was a pair of hands on her shoulders, though; she turned around to see a... six foot Hound. He had both of his eyes. "Thought I'd keep you company if you wanted to sit and eat?"

Astrid couldn't help but eye him strangely. Yeah, it was a holo, but it was a more "natural" holo for him to use than his human one. She imagined him transforming into a Power Wheels-sized, fully furnished, fully-functioning Jeep and driving around her in little circles like an excited puppy.

She must have made a face that he could see. "What's wrong?"

"I just... why aren't you... _fully_ here?"

He frowned. "I just thought I'd try something new, is all."

She could tell they were both playing out the flight in their heads, but that neither of them wanted to bring that conversation back up. "But I like, you know... the _real_ you."

"So you don't like this either."

"What do you mean, 'this either'?"

"You don't like any of my holos."

"That's because I can't forget that they're _not __actually __you_ is all. They're not you in the flesh..." Fuck. "So to speak."

Hound's small face deepened into a glower. "I don't think you understand how much a part of me this stuff really is."

She smacked herself in the forehead: a migraine was bubbling up. "No, it's not that. Okay, look- I just want you to feel secure in your own skin. Because you're doing through some serious shit, and I want nothing more than to help you be okay with the way you are."

He stood and quietly stared her down for a moment. "No," he said at length, shaking his head lightly. "You want _you_ to be okay with the way I am. Anything that deviates from this image you've got of me is messing you up. I get it now. So forget if being _this_," he gestured to himself here. "Is more in line with who I am on the inside, because you don't want it. You want what you want. And you want Hound the hero, Hound the leader, Hound the badass. You don't want Hound the insecure, the emotional, the reckless, the self-hating, conflicted, dysphoric, and defeated. Nah, I get it."

Astrid was hot and cold and numb and pained, and she reached her arm out because he had it all wrong, and "Hound-" but he was gone and there was the clamor of a large, heavier version of him getting up off the ground outside.

"I get it," his real voice echoed back to her along with the sound of him walking away.

She just sort of stood there in the cafeteria in a stunned silence, the steady buzzing of the fluorescent lights filling the room. She listened to him leave, and continued to listen long after all was quiet.

"Fuck _everything__,_" she hissed, smashing her half empty cup of water into the sink, only to jump back in surprise when the glass shattered against the metal basin. "Fuck!" Astrid stared at it for a moment before turning around and sinking to the floor leaving the mess. "I give up. I just give up."

It was several hours of sitting and staring at the internet on the computers there, on an empty stomach, when her body was yelling at her to go to bed. Astrid was in a fog; nothing seemed real enough, not even her own sick fear and blistering apprehension.

She wondered where Hound was. Maybe he was out getting robot-drunk. Nah. He was probably feeling like shit somewhere dark and quiet, because that's the way he was.

Dammit, she did appreciate and support all of him! His joys and his sorrows, his aspirations, his weaknesses... she should go find him so they could figure and sort this shit through together. Lay everything out on the table, get on the same page, and proceed forward side by side, because she'd be lying if she said the future didn't look terrifying.

But suddenly approaching him and fixing this was the most daunting task that ever needed to be overcome, and Astrid shrank back. Staying here was appealing, now. Sleeping alone sounded appropriate, waiting for him to come back and make that first move... in the morning, whenever, if ever.

_No__, __you__'__re __not __a __selfish __coward__. __So __go __out __and __find __him__._

"Okay."

So she left and ventured out into the hallway.

Somehow she felt smaller exploring the vast spaces alone, and stuck close to the walls.

Which way did she need to go to get to where they stayed last time? Was he even there? Astrid had no idea, but kept walking even as fatigue gnawed at her bones.

She walked, and she walked, glancing up every now and then to spy a security camera, or to try and make sense of a sign that she couldn't read labelling a door she couldn't open.

They all seemed to be that way, though.

Off to her right and about 30 yards away was the elevator. She headed for it slowly, though didn't really know why- she wasn't even sure if she was tall enough to reach the call button. Astrid stood across the way, though, and gazed at it mindlessly. Was she waiting for someone to come up? No, she decided after several minutes of staring, and walked away.

She was getting extremely tired now, and had just about given up, feeling somewhat abandoned as she meandered through the empty corridors. She decided to head back to a dimmer hall some ways back that she thought she recognized as being where the guest chambers were for travelling Autobots, but she wasn't sure. For all she knew, it could have been a series of storage rooms.

Astrid gave a quiet knock to the first four out of six before deciding that they weren't what she was looking for. Defeated, she sat down on the floor, back up against the juncture of a wall and a support beam, granting her some semblance of privacy. She leaned back, brought her limbs in close, and closed her eyes.

Stupid place.

_I __give __up__._


	13. Me And Bobby McGee

He stood and watched her as she slept from the doorway of his room, leaning against the jamb with arms folded and face hard.

She looked absolutely tiny, curled up in that corner. Too small to be here.

After a few minutes of studying her and wondering if she was going to wake up of her own accord, he abruptly turned around and went back into the darkness of his room. "What am I doing anymore," he whispered to the shadows, rubbing his helmet.

_What __does __she __want __from __me__?_

He was extremely hurt, and quite possibly said some things that he didn't mean to say, but still, the point stood...

The anger was still there, though it was small and lacked direction now. It was burning everything it could just to keep itself from being extinguished. He'd put the entirety of his trust in her, though! And the thought of her taking that to try to... manipulate him into being something he wasn't? That made him sick.

Absolutely sick.

He slid down to the floor, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. Hound remembered Prowl's words from not too long ago: _don__'__t __underestimate __her __loyalty __to __her __race__._ He knew she wouldn't sell the Autobots out or abandon him or anything like that, but... maybe that cold bastard of a mech was onto something. It seemed like she wanted him to be a certain thing that followed a certain human narrative of...

"What the hell am I even talking about," he muttered. "I'm the one with the slagging phallus for Primus' sake. It doesn't get much more anthropocentric than that."

And it was beginning to integrate itself into his systems too, he'd been noticing. It was almost as if he were aware of its presence when it wasn't even engaged. Images flashed in his CPU of them going at it with his human device. He wasn't going to deny that something about it felt _right_ to him, that it felt like it was one step closer to bringing him more in tune with himself. But all the rest...

_A __stain __of __blood __on __her __lip__._

_Deep __red __blossoming __in __the __flesh __of __her __hips __and __thighs__._

_His __hands __gripping __her __just __gently __enough __to __avoid __lasting __damage__._

Did he like it because he actually liked it, or did he like it because it was simply the best case scenario? One wrong move, a single misfire in his fore-processors... and she'd be in the ER again. Or worse.

But Vector Sigma... who was he kidding, though? When he kneaded her skin like wet clay between his fingers, or manhandled her like a wave can do with even the most adept of surfers, he loved it. Most times he didn't want to love it, but he did. It felt right, somehow.

_Fisticuffs __and __brawling __is __for __thugs __and __organics__, __and __have __no __place __in __the __Autobot __army__._

Fisticuffs. Brawling. Sure.

Hound got up again; he was very easily worn down by even attempting to hold a grudge. Most mechs knew that about him, but it was a lesson that he was constantly re-learning.

Astrid was still asleep when he stopped at the threshold again. Her brow was deeply furrowed and she was grinding her teeth— REM had taken her someplace unpleasant. "You deserve better sleep than that," he whispered and stepped over to her. He sank into a kneel on the floor beside her, arms ready to scoop her up into his hands, but he stopped short to get another look at his human: injuries hidden by a black turtleneck, form obstructed by a thickly padded orange vest. Jeans on her legs, one knee threatening to form a hole any day now.

He found himself drawing his lips into a tight line when he finally reached forward and eased his giant hands under her thighs and behind her back.

"Hnn..."

"Sh," he gently ordered, holding her against his belly, door closing behind them.

In the dark, he materialized her bed like before and laid her down into the sea of fabric before sliding down onto the berth beside her, face up. He wove his fingers together across his midsection and gazed at the ceiling; Hound listened to her stir beside him, perhaps wondering what had happened.

"Hound?" she ventured. Making sure it was him. Sleep was heavy on her voice.

"Yeah." His reply came out harsher than he'd intended. Oh well.

It quieted her up, though. He heard her settle down into the sheets and stay there. But her heart rate told him sleep was still far away. They stayed like that for some time.

Hound's CPU was still racing, though the thoughts themselves had almost completely fallen apart and it felt like nothing but dust was being whipped around in his head. None of it would settle, and when he tried to grab it, it just escaped through his fingers.

"So what is it you want me to be," he said at length, unsure of how long they'd been laying there. A minute? A breem? One hundred years, more like. It wasn't a question. He wasn't asking politely, hoping to get something to work with in return if he was lucky. No. He wanted it straight, and he wanted it in plain English. 140 characters or less— he'd be counting.

A veritable millenium passed before she shifted in the pile of sheets, polyester vest the loudest of the bunch with its telltale _swish_sound. In a parallel reality, his anger was getting the best of him: demanding an answer using his sizable body language as leverage to get it. In another, he wasn't even with her right now.

_Well__?_ She'd come looking for him, right? She clearly had something she'd wanted to say. So out with it, already! Sometimes she could be so—

"I want you to be you," she said in a quiet voice.

He continued staring at the ceiling. "Tell me the truth."

Astrid suddenly sat up. "Dammit, Hound, you know I mean that."

And so did he, which startled her in the dark. With crossed legs and crossed arms, he stared her down with his single eye and dared her to prove it.

"I just... maybe I feel like you're moving too quickly, is what it is. In less than a year you went from only understanding humans in theory to wanting to change species and _be_ one. That's a lot for me to grasp. You have to understand; we have short lives and we move slow."

_Short __lives__, __move __slow__. __Short __lives__, __move __slow__..._

The anger was rising in him again, though he was beginning to feel it turn petty and ugly in an attempt to remain relevant. He released the building heat in his spark with a huff and a grumble of his systems.

"What was that earlier, then?"

He felt her bristle. "It... it felt fake, to me."

"So you get to be the gatekeeper of what is and isn't real, then."

"No!"

Hound broke form. "Then what is it!" he exclaimed, in a voice that sounded more pleading than he wanted it to. "Slagging _tell_ me already so I can at least make some sense of it."

"I want you to be you." She slumped.

He groaned; he could feel the beginning of the slow slide down into despair. "You _said_ that already."

"Well it's true," she spat back. "Sometimes it feels like you're so damn gung-ho on getting out of your own body and meeting some bizarre standard of what being human is that you're writing yourself off. What's so great about being human, anyway? We're myopic, petty, and self-serving. We're self-righteous. We're liars, we're cheats, we're physically weak, and our only natural ability is to think ourselves out of hard work. At best, we're just as despicable of a species as any other."

Hound's gaze fell.

Why _did_ he want to be human so badly? What, exactly, was it going to give him that he couldn't get now? He was already getting sex, he was already getting sensual intimacy, he was already at home on this planet and at home with the people here. Maybe it was to be more like her? More "compatible"?

"Look, I just don't know if what you're chasing after can be found in being human. You're already a guy, a dude... a _he_." Swallow. "And I have preferences too," she whispered. "Part of the human condition is having our experience constrained entirely by the body we were born with. No holograms, no virtual realities, no body-snatching machines. This is all I know, and all I'll ever know. So I'm sorry that I'm so fixated on who you are physically."

Maybe the grass wasn't necessarily greener on the other side. Maybe she was right.

Maybe he did need to slow down and think a little more about how it wasn't just impacting her, but him also. Perhaps this was some kind of culture clash? There _was_more of a general sense of being detached from one's physicality in society back home. It was the spark and the processors and the data that mattered most; the body was just a fancy, pretty tool that could be damaged, fixed, upgraded, rebuilt, and even discarded for a better one altogether. Was that where he was getting these ideas from?

Did that worldview contradict the very basis of what he was trying to achieve?

"Maybe I'm just excited," he murmured. "At finally being in a place where I can be me without apology. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself." He paused for a while here before speaking again at length; quieter than a murmur, a breath it would have been if he had any. "I've been around the block, Astrid; older than human civilization... and this is the first time I've felt this way. Somehow you guys got it right."

"Well it's nice to know we got _something_ right."

"What if..." he began, trailing off as he collected his thoughts. "What if what I did earlier was right?" Not that it was, but he felt the pained at the idea of not even being allowed to try.

Astrid sucked on the side of her lip. "Then that's what you need to do."

Was that relief he felt? A relief of sorts, maybe.

"But you can't spend the rest of your days as a hologram. I won't let you. That's no way to live."

But...!

But...

She was right. The idea did go against everything that made him whole; living as one would be a hollow experience. Her concern reminded him of something...

"Before the war," he murmured, suddenly deciding to tell a story. Perhaps it would help bridge the gap between the two of them right now. "There was this thing called Alternative Experience... AlterEx... Alterence, I guess it could translate to."

"Yeah?"

"It was a commercial service provided by a company of the same name, where they'd strap you into this tube sort of thing called a CR chamber, and hook you up to the mainframe where you'd be generated a holoform body of any size, shape, whatever, and you would be that thing for however long you wanted. You could be some alien for a party one night, or you could go and live the rest of your life as Godzilla. It was cheap rent for a lot of folks."

"That sounds like it would cause more trouble than it's worth."

"Took them 12,000 years to hammer the kinks out, but eventually it was the biggest business on Cybertron, second only to the energon industry."

"What happened to it?"

"The system completely fell apart as soon as the war started. Their mainframe wound up getting bogged down with the high volume of holoform disruptions and the entire thing just collapsed under its own weight. Thousands of bots wound up dying when their vitals hookups shut down as well and threw them into prolonged stasis locks." He paused. "Dead sparks are sort of neat... about the size of a buckshot, and weigh around 20-30 pounds depending on the size of the individual."

He didn't know where he was going with this.

"Did you ever try out one of the machines?"

His memory banks started pulling up images of that night before his foreprocessors had the opportunity to squelch the information. "Once," he began, oblivious to his own cringing. "A long time before the war on some moon base. I... did some pretty foolish stuff that night." Why did he bring this up? "I went somewhere that holos weren't permitted to be, organics-only, thought I could get away with it, and didn't."

"What happened?"

"In spite of being an officer, I became the laughingstock of the base. It's okay, I guess," he muttered with a bad taste on his glossa, bad, bad memories surfacing. "All those guys are dead now."

Astrid heaved a sigh, getting up from her mattress and stepped over to curl up in his lap. She laid a soft hand on his green forearm plating and he noticed her skin was clammy, so he took it up into his own to keep it warm. She was tired.

"Astrid, I'm sorry."

She looked up at him from where she lay. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to be an asshole."

"You're not an asshole. You've been through a lot... and here I am, having an identity crisis when you need me here for you the most."

"Let's not worry about the past," she murmured, averting her eyes. A sore spot. "I just want to move forward with you and get through whatever it is that's coming."

He bent forward over her and held her tight for a moment before releasing her. "Fair enough."

She sighed. Hound rubbed his thumb gently along the back of her hand, his digit remembering a bandage there.

"Can I take a look at your burns?" he asked. "Since you're missing your appointment tomorrow."

Astrid said nothing, instead removing herself from his grasp and taking off her vest and long-sleeved shirt.

"They don't hurt so much," Astrid said softly as she pulled the tape and gauze off in the dark, leaving them all hanging by one edge so they could be put back in place. "How does it look?"

He closed the distance between them to get a good optical look, gently touching around the damaged skin. It was... not as he remembered it.

"It looks like its almost done healing," he said very quietly, still appraising the damage with a little confusion.

"What do you mean "almost done"?"

What was once a deep, mottled red, blistering from the fire still trapped under the surface, was now cleaner. Sickly white and yellow of dead tissue, glistening with wet lymph, was... fresher.

"I... can't explain it," Hound said after a few bewildered moments, letting her go. "I was under the impression this was going to take a lot longer."

Astrid's hand reached around to her side slowly, fearfully, and touched herself there, probing about the ribs. "What in the world..." She kept doing it. "It stings, but it stings like a..."

"Like a sunburn, almost," he finished for her.

"Yeah, like a sunburn."

They sat in confused silence together until Astrid turned to her left arm and cautiously removed the thicker padding there, while Hound looked on with curiosity.

And there was the gunshot wound, with the sutures sticking out of the skin like black spikes or barbed wire. All in all it was about an inch and a half long, the width of his little finger, and relatively straight. The bullet had lost tremendous speed after hitting him in the face— enough for the bone to stop it without shattering. But the skin around the wound was no longer red and puckered up from being pulled taut by the suture thread. Far from fully healed, but impeccably clean, and—

"It doesn't hurt as badly as it did a few days ago," Astrid noted when she probed around the entry wound with two fingers. "It aches like a deep bruise." More feeling around. "And the swelling is almost gone."

Hound got an idea just then. "Can you... can I see the bruises?"

Astrid nodded in the dark and twisted around to show him her hips and upper arms. Much to his astonishment...

"Gone," he whispered. "They've completely disappeared."

"I'm at a loss," she announced, wrapping herself back up "My doc is going to be surprised, that's for sure. And you've got no ideas?"

"You're asking the wrong guy."

"We'll ask Ratchet when you go to get your eye fixed tomorrow," she replied quietly, patting his arm. Her hand stayed there when she was done though, and she dropped her gaze. He noticed her eyes wander about, looking for something to focus on. She was thinking.

"I think we really need to figure out how sustainable this relationship truly is."

Hound was surprised when the words just sort of spilled out of him. He hadn't thought them up, but they were just there, materializing in his mouth as he spoke them so that he didn't have the opportunity to think twice about them as they came out.

Her eyes came back to his. "I didn't know that was something anybody could just hash out in one 's something you figure it out every day until either it's over or you're dead."

Was she right?

How were things done back on Cybertron? He tried to remember, but couldn't.

If she was trying to get out of talking about it, that wasn't going to work. Hound was still convinced that their differences and their unique circumstance wasn't something they could just sweep under the rug and pretend didn't exist. Because it damn well did, and it damn well caused a lot of bad things to happen that wouldn't have otherwise.

And it sure as hell was more than just sexual fantasy fodder.

"Our lines of communication need to stay open," he affirmed. "And we need to keep vigilant, because if we start taking _anything_ that we currently have for granted, things will threaten to fall apart." A sigh. "Like it almost happened tonight, like it almost happened last week, and like it's almost happened all the other times since we decided to go down this road." He hugged her again. "We have so much in common," he said quietly, his face closer to her now. "But our differences can and will wreak havoc if we let them." A tense pause. "And whatever it is that's coming will be easier to bear if I have you with me." He didn't want to say it, because it felt like he was condemning her to... something horrible. But it was true, and he meant it down into the very electrons of his spark.

"_I__'__m __scared__" __is __what __I __mean __to __say__._

"Even if I walked away," she said, trying to suppress a yawn. (It was getting to be very late.) "I don't think I'd be able to get away from your influence in the world. Every time I'd see a report about a missing person in the wilderness, or a mysterious disaster, I'd know who'd be there. And it would be really hard to keep from getting sucked in again."

Part of him wanted to think she was rambling now, but the rest of him knew better. So he decided to put them both to bed. "It's almost 3. Time for sleep," he murmured, scooping her up and placing her gently back on the bed before shifting around to lay all four thousand pounds of himself down beside her.

"Do me a favor," she muttered groggily. "Wake me up with a cock in my face."

Oh really, now.

_I__'__m __sure __I __could __do __something __about __that__, _he thought to himself with a smile while preparing himself for recharge. _It __would __probably __be __good __for __us __anyways__._

.

The distant sound of morning rain filled the room like a soothing hush, and little sun made it through the clouds and thickly frosted, bullet-proof skylight, throwing the room into a soft, dim gray.

It was about 10 o'clock in the morning, Hound guessed. Or, well, _knew_, actually. Autobots were generally up and about at around dawn, so it was a surprise to him that he hadn't been summed down into the medbay yet.

_All __the __better__,_ he thought, turning over onto his side to face Astrid.

The mech paused to look at her for a moment, and remember what she'd said on the flight yesterday. He longed to touch her, but didn't know where. For a brief moment, he found himself paralyzed with wanting and with fear. His CPU conjured a fantastic image of her bursting into flames from his touch and burning in unimaginable agony until all that was left was ash and bone. Was that going to be the sort of thing that he thought of every time he wanted to get close?

Dammit, this was allowed to be his catharsis too.

_Catharsis_.

There wasn't a word for that back home, Hound realized.

There's _00184__x__000__r__0__hhhz__5550823000__a__0, _which is to calm by way of grounding excess electrical charge. There's _00192__e__000__r__0__hhhz__7551846000__a__0_, which is to perform a non-vital systems purge. There's _00181__v__000__r__1__hhhz__5540661000__a__0_, which is to strongly desire forgiveness. There's _00239__x__000__r__0__hhhz__8880116000__a__0, _which is to be burned/smelted alive.

He jogged his memory banks, and no... nothing quite matched.

She lay under a blanket before him, clothes still cast aside from the night before. The bandages on her exposed skin shone a bright white against her skin.

What they were doing was ok, right?

_Primus__?_

Hound bit on his upper lip.

_For __right __now__, __I __think __it __is__. _

He reached out his hand and, drawing the blanket away from her, softly cupped her ass. She felt like earth, and soon the cupping turned to rubbing. After a little while Hound found himself easing a middle finger deeper between her thighs with every stroke, causing her to groan some and angle herself in his direction to give him better access.

_She__likes__this__, _he reassured himself stupidly, trying to simultaneously bolster and squelch his building enthusiasm.

His finger raked across her crotch. The heat was already there; the thought raised his own temperature degree by degree, hastening the pumping of spark fluid through internal systems. Hound could feel his sensory receptors begin to optimize and strengthen in their sensitivity... similar to adrenaline, he imagined.

_Why __does __she __want __this __so __bad__? _Maybe in answering that he would find out why he did too.

Hound grabbed her thighs to turn her over onto her back.

"Pants," he said. _I __wonder __what __wearing __clothes __is __like__._

Astrid immediately began to undo her jeans and slide them past her ankles, kicking them beyond the edge of the mattress. A smile crept across his face as he looked at her—dammit, he couldn't help it—laying there beneath him in naught but her skivvies. He could feel her pulse just by looking at her.

He aimed high.

His right hand was curious to experience having a finger sucked, so he directed them toward her mouth, little concern for tact. (He had no tact this morning.) With great fascination he followed the curve of her chin and cheek with his thumb, feeling the relative hardness of the bone contrasted with soft skin, and then the velvet suppleness of her small lips. So different than—

An image flashed in his CPU of his fist smashing her face in. _"__I __think __some __part __of __me __likes __that__..."_

—his.

For a second he could have sworn he had a mouth, tongue, throat, pharynx, and he swallowed. Or maybe he had a hypothalimus, muscles, skin, and he shivered. But the wetness of her mouth beckoned like shelter in a storm. He was naked and cold, so he went in to warm up, leaving the darkness outside.

Around the bulge of her pouting bottom lip he traced with an index finger before slowly, but surely, forcing himself into the first joint. She wrapped her lips around it and sucked, licking slowly, almost defiantly. He could feel that muscle wrap around him like silk one second, and harden up into a fleshy point to trace around the fine-fitted architecture of his finger.

"Good morning," he offered with a smile he found to be quite genuine. It seemed to have the power to chase his fearful imaginings away.

Astrid smiled back, inasmuch as she could with his appendage stuffed in her mouth, making noises in her throat that seemed to parody words that she knew wouldn't make it out. They ticked his dermaplating.

He was sometimes in the habit of involuntarily imagining awful things. He would often picture himself accidentally shooting someone back in the days when he used the rifle more often.

_I__'__m __not __going __to __hurt __anyone__, _he reassured himself. _I__'__m __allowed __to __do __this __and __I__'__m __allowed __to __enjoy __it__. __She __already __is__._

_...__but __why__?_

_Ah__, __fuck __the __whys__!_

Her injuries... he felt their weight, but they weren't his. He didn't make them.

Hound's finger sunk in further, so slowly. Astrid took it with a small noise, accommodating as much as she could, but after a moment he could feel the muscles in her throat jerking. She sputtered and pushed his hand away. He pulled away, wondering for a brief moment if...

But she smiled as she swallowed and caught her breath.

He watched the way she moved when her gag reflex was triggered and he realized that he vaguely wanted to see it again. The cords of her neck rippling beneath the skin, her brows furrowing, heart skipping a beat- how she was, in those brief moments, oblivious to where she was and how she looked. The base survival instinct, however weak it was then, brought out something interesting in her. _There__'__s __truth __in __that__..._

_Maybe __it__'__s __mine __too__?_

He caught himself looking at the glistening line of spit connecting his finger to her tongue as it stretched and fell away, forming a perfect little droplet for only a split second before falling back to her chin. With great deliberation he let himself be overcome by the urge to plunge back in.

Not breaking eye contact with her he lightly splayed the rest of his fingers along her chin and chest, he shoved in his index again, confirming his suspicions. She coughed. The feeling of her tongue writhing around his girth was, to be honest, very thrilling.

_And __this __is__... __OK__. __I__'__m __bigger__, __and __that__'__s __OK__._

With a great motion he threw his leg over her: one knee on each side, thighs wider than she was shoulder to shoulder. Astrid bit her lip and grinned sheepishly, admiring him from where she was pinned by his lower half, his momentary transgression from just a second ago forgotten— or perhaps it was a block they had placed together in building the foundation of the scene. "And good morning to you too." She said, giving him a wink. "Loving the view."

_And __she__'__s __OK __with __it __too__._

_Of __course __she __is__, __how __many __times __does __she __have __to __tell __you __before __you __trust __her __when __she __says __so__? __It__'__s _her _enthusiasm __that __terrifies __you__, __after __all__._

"Oh, you'll love it even more in a second."

Electric blood was running hot and fast in his carbon-fiber veins, ignoring the back-and-forth going on in his big, square, head. Kinetic energy pooled like water to a reservoir deep in his hips and belly, and without even needing to think about it, his cock appeared: all two feet of it. The bulging knot at the base rested squarely on her stomach, with its hard, fleshy length filling the gap between her breasts, and the tip twitching just above her chin.

_Okay__, __this __is __really __hot__._

Hot. Hot. What was the word for that in Cybertronian? Forget it. Irrelevant. This was Earth intimacy.

"Mmm..."

Hound gazed down at her, watching every tiny movement like a hawk, each one bringing him just that much closer to the edge. (_That _there was a name for back home.) She licked her lips and took hold of him with small, hot fingers and blew an eager breath over the tip. Sensor nets went wild. No horrible images occupied his mind; there was no room for anything but the two of them right then.

Then the tongue. Hound couldn't bite back the groan even if he tried; that singular piece of anatomy was the most amazing thing in the universe. It felt like molten muscle being poured over his spark chamber, caressing and undulating and tickling every wire, every gear, every secret seam. It was somehow even more magical than the work she did on his finger.

He grabbed himself and directed the show that way, his whole body shifting around her with every tiny thrust into her mouth. He smeared himself around her lips. Petite moans escaped her when she had to work a little harder to keep up with his movements, minute as they were for him; it tickled the holoskin, sending tiny vibrations down into the network of projected veins that stimulated his spark receptors and pleasure nets. In other words, bliss. Pictures of their fucking in the woods last time occupied his thoughts.

"There you go," he rumbled, watching. "Fit as much of it in as you can."

Astrid mewled in compliance.

_This __was __**so **__OK__._

Hound looked on hungrily as she covered as much of his head as she could with that little mouth of hers. That little, delicate, fuckable mouth of hers. Just barely too small to be of any real use right now, but, he realized, that was almost the point. She managed to take in the bulbous tip that was peeking out from an outer layer of thick, pliable holoskin, and stuck the end of her tongue into the slit.

"Primus," he rasped.

Static rushed to his pelvic plates, foreprocessors, and spark chamber simultaneously— the pleasure was starting to build.

But Astrid, bless her dastardly human soul, pulled her mouth away with a little _pop__!_ and left him covered in glistening, gooey spit. She wiggled out from between his legs and went from being on her back to all fours, trailing her tongue along the top of his ribbed length as she crept closer and closer, until her mouth was on the metal plating around the base of his organic holodevice, producing a markedly different sensation.

Up, up, she went, dragging fingernails here and there, kissing and licking along his tightly armored belly and paying maddeningly close attention to the seams, however impossible it would have been to stick even a knife between the plates. Eventually she stood with each foot on a thigh, kissing his chest. But that was as long as he could bear to leave her to her own devices. His disinterest in hands-off intimacy was pretty much the most fundamental thing that set him apart from his peers, and he'd be damned if he had to keep his big paws off her for long.

That intensity of tactile stimulation was what he was after; overwhelming his sensors with her body, her skin, her malleability. He wanted to feel her gush through his fingers and seep into his joints like dirt after a hard drive. She was a stretch of road to him then; and he couldn't help but want to rev up and _go_.

Fingers gripped her hips and thighs with barely restrained power; the feeling of her flesh yield like that under the rough movements of his hands was a drug. She made a noise, pain and pleasure fighting for dominance in her brain and in her throat. His right hand traveled up her body while the other made itself useful around her hips, sometimes eliciting a gasp from her in his mouth, to which he'd reply with a rumbling chuckle that shook her whole body. But when his hand touched her arm and felt a very different sort of heat there he stopped and remembered what that skin had seen and felt. Hound sent it back down without a word and she placed her own hand on it, giving the armor a light squeeze. _It__'__s __OK__. __Give __it __time__,_ the gesture said.

There was a quick pang of fear, but not crippling like it could have been. _Hesitation __is __different__, _he reminded himself. _Just __like __how __bruises __can __mean __different __things__._

It occurred to him that there wasn't so much nuance associated with bodily injury back home. It all had purely negative connotations. Not so, he was learning. No so.

He planted a long, sensual kiss on her, caressing the back of her head. _Take __all __the __time __you __need__, _he hoped it said.

Astrid broke away to take off her bra and panties, tossing them aside when she was done. She struck a pose there below him. Yep, she was a feast for the optics. Or, er... optic. Hound was suddenly conscious of his disfigured face.

So he turned to the side and covered his face with his hands as Astrid looked on curiously. Engaging his holoform capabilities was as easy as a thought, and so he imagined something of an eyepatch; white, like her bandages, and held on with comically oversized medical tape. He turned back toward her, grinning. "We match now," he offered.

Her face lit up endearingly and she stretched herself upward to plant a kiss on his chin.

Looking down at her now gave him a wicked idea, though. Now that holos had been introduced, what he wanted to do next wouldn't be that far of a stretch, right?

"I'm going to try something," he announced, lifting her off of his legs and setting her down on her own bed, copping a feel of those delicious breasts with this thumbs before letting go.

She gave him a look and sucked on her bottom lip. "Try what?"

He was nervous, but excited. Her words from the day before echoed in his head, so he was sure that she was at least open to the idea. "Arms at your sides."

"What are you scheming, you dashing rogue, you?"

Hound studied her for a moment without answering. Then, he pictured a rope. No, no... that was too complicated. Start with something easy. The rope morphed into a length of plastic film, like tape, that would stick to itself and make for a formidable restraint. _Perfect_. And with a flex of his CPU, the tape appeared above Astrid's head, some 10 feet in length. He grabbed it and coiled it around her.

_Why__?_

_Because __fun__, __that__'__s __why__, __slaggit__!_

Astrid's eyes went wide out of surprise, but a cautious grin spread across her face as he tightened the stuff a little, increasing it to full density once it was in place. He liked the way the green bands criss-crossed her chest and middle, emphasizing her soft organicness, and of course, her cleavage as well.

"Oh my god," she murmured, biting her bottom lip and surveying herself. "No way. Where in the world did you..."

"Yes way," he said huskily, extending his index finger toward her chest and giving her a gentle push that sent her to her plump little tuckus. "And hey, you don't think I browse the internet in my spare time too?"

"You're lucky I like surprises."

Was that a challenge? Hound was suddenly interested in seeing if he could call her bluff. "Well good," he said as he got onto his knees over her and muscled her onto her own. _Face __down__, __ass __up_. She made a noise when her head was pushed into the pillow, quite unable to brace herself with anything else. "Because I've got a few more coming your way."

_This __is __hot __**and **__fun__._

He sensed her heart race at those words, which caused his spark to heat up even more in its casing, and looked at his handiwork. Soft juncture between her softer thighs hot and ready for whatever he was going to dish out. But what _to_ dish out? What to... _Ah__, __I __know __just __the __thing__._

The shape was drawn out in his mind. Smallish, because he wanted to play it safe: three inches long and five in girth at its widest. He wasn't sure if she'd used such a thing before. The idea of transparency intrigued him, so he borrowed the physical properties of perfectly shaped glass. In a matter of seconds the creation appeared between his thumb and forefinger, completely dwarfed by the rest of his hand. His other firmly grasped her rear, spreading one cheek a little from the other and marveling at nature's engineering. His cock twitched when he saw her tiny pussy completely coated in its own fluids and radiating heat, _begging _to be filled. Her body was growing very impatient. But this attention was drawn nary an inch higher, to the other orifice: impossibly tight. Hm, maybe loosening her up a little first would be a good idea?

Hound's hand remained where it was on her ass cheek when he bent far forward, his mouth hovering inches from her quivering body. He would have blown a hot gust of air over her if he could, but figured his mouth would suffice. He stuck out his tongue and started low; teasing her clit hidden away beneath those small folds of skin. Astrid gave a pleasured yelp at the sudden direct contact, tapering off into a throaty moan when his glossa traveled slowly upward, taking a shallow dip inside and ending at her puckered ass. The hand that was busy keeping her steady throughout this exploration maneuvered to allow him to gently press at the opening with the pad of his thumb until the strong muscles there finally relented, just short of allowing him entry. Astrid was beginning to sweat.

Still without any idea of what he was holding, Hound plunged the glass holoform plug into her dripping cunt to get it nice and slick. Astrid cried out in surprise and delight, trying to turn around to see what it was after he'd pulled it out and was teasing her asshole with it. Without further warning, he shoved it in.

Astrid jerked and yelped at the sudden penetration. "Holy—!" And then a contented moan.

_Alrighty__..._

Hound flipped her over again onto her back, knocking the wind out of her, and sunk his middle finger deep in her without giving her a single moment to compose herself. He fingered that soft, spongy sweet spot behind her pubic bone for a moment, getting a couple excellent noises in return, before yanking the digit out and preparing to replace it with the real deal.

He knew full well that it was a physical impossibility to put himself in there while at the "proper" scale— it'd literally kill her. But after plenty of experimentation, they had a pretty good idea of how far he could go, and while it could barely even be considered the tip, he began the long, slow push to heaven.

_I__'__ll __have __to __shrink __down__,_ he thought in fits and starts, CPUs getting washed out with warm, undulating static that was making it difficult to think. _Just__... __just __a __few __seconds __of __this__, __though__..._ Hound grunted and growled, losing himself in the embrace of her muscles. There was nothing but size separating them now; they were two facets of the same being.

"Hng... fuck yeah. You want more of this?"

The red-hot human writhing from somewhere inside of his tangle of limbs was like the molten center of a planet kept hidden away underneath thousands of miles of rock and metal. Hound was simultaneously as small as a nanene and tall as Mount Olympus.

"_More_," was all she could manage through closed eyes and gritted teeth.

And he gave it to her. Happily.

.

"Hound, Primus slaggit, answer your damn comm pings!" the PA in his room bellowed. It was Red Alert, and he wasn't very happy.

_There __it __is__,_ he thought, rolling over onto his back and massaging the dermaplating around his optics. _The __real __world __I__'__ve __been __trying __to __avoid __thinking __about __for __the __past__ 12 __hours__._ It really was just a matter of time, though.

"This is the most basic of the basics," he continued, a scowl in his voice. "I shouldn't even have to be _using_ such an archaic system if it weren't for your _head_ being turned off. It's completely unencrypted and any human kid with some tin foil and a wire hanger can listen in on us right now if they very well wanted to."

What time was it, anyways? He checked: 11:32a.

"Hound, are you even listening to me?"

The Jeep groaned. He was still moving slow. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Primus, can't a bot get a little R&R around here or what?" Slow and jovial, somehow. Hound found himself biting back a smile.

"Do I _really_ need to remind you of the gravity of this entire situation, or do you have dirt in your circuits?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, now."

"You. Medbay. _NOW__._ Red Alert out."

The mech chuckled at his colleague's perpetual anxiety. He didn't often like to find humor in such things, but... sometimes you just did what you have to do to keep your sanity during a war.

"I guess it's time to face reality again, babe," he sighed, running a finger up and down Astrid's arm to get her attention. _Not like I want to..._

She turned over from where she lay in a lazy heap, sweaty and made filthy by both of their fluids. Hound's pelvic plates were covered in greasy handprints as it was, too. "Do we have to?"

"I should probably get my face looked at already." He sat up, rubbing his neck and taking a shammy out from subspace to wipe himself down with. "Wow, we didn't get so much as 5 minutes after all that, did we?"

She laughed, a little self-consciously. "I am _so_ sore. You need to uhm... not get that carried away before meetings and job stuff, maybe."

He couldn't help but smirk and beam with a sort of devilish pride. Being three times her height and 35 times her weight, it took little more than giving a look to injure a human; the trick, and the sweet spot, really, was dishing out just enough hurt to make the encounter excellent.

_Really? Is that the trick?_

Maybe that's what she'd meant earlier by that "watch where you step" comment: she wanted to walk that extremely fine, perfect, line between safety and harm. Between total disengagement and real, tangible fear.

The mech was capable of doing a lot of harm. This was no new revelation, however; it was something he had struggled to come to grips with ever since enlisting at the behest of his supposedly "flawed" programming. Preferring melee combat made him a disgrace no matter how many countless times he'd fired his rifle on and off the range. Preferring hard labor, as opposed to "soft", made him a simpleton worthy of pity to those who didn't know him or had never glanced at his file. Not having the ability to interface with much beyond the most common Cybertronian systems made him practically illiterate in the eyes the wider population. That ensured some days were much harder to get through than others.

Optimus Prime understood the contradictions of Hound's psyche (the implications of which were too much for polite company), though. He understood how to best put him to use, optimize his talents and hardware, and perhaps most importantly of all, understand what made this soldier _happy_.

And now, he had finally found someone to be happy _with__. _Not only did she put up with his fetish for tactile stimulation, but she embraced it! She needed it herself! Touch was the very language of her species and just knowing that he could squeeze her, hold her, pet her... felt more right than spark merging or data transfer or whatever else was the "correct" way to express intimacy. Those methods had long left him cold. Contrast that with the thrill of seeing some part of him disappear inside of her— it was like coming home.

_Pun __intended__._

Hound's spark, he firmly decided, was swollen with happiness. "I'll keep it in mind, but I can't make any promises."

_That's the how, but why?_

_Stupid question._

.

Astrid had gone to go get some food while he headed downstairs to the medbay. Apparently she hadn't known there was a way for her to reach the basement levels without help, so he'd informed her of a human-sized elevator nearby that required Red Alert's authorization to use.

The medbay was 3 levels down, built using pieces of the facilities the Ark was originally equipped with. Some tech was orange, some white. it was a veritable calico quilt of old and new. And who knows? Maybe sooner or later the whole place would be white.

"By Primus there you are!" Ratchet loudly griped upon seeing hound enter the room. "I've only been waiting for you to show up all morning."

Oops. "Sorry, Ratch'. I got... held up." He knew the routine; lay on the berth, hands at his sides.

The medic _had_ been waiting, it seemed. Tools and parts were at the ready, and Ratchet dove right in. He brought down a bright lamp and magnifying plate to do a quick evaluation before getting started. "Yes," he grunted, taking a metal pick and examining the damage around the socket. "You're covered in Agent Schneider's handprints, I can see."

Hound winced. "I guess I missed a spot,"" he muttered.

Ratchet changed tools and came back in close. "You missed many."

"Don't tell—" It was practically a reflex.

"Oh calm down, I'm not going to tell anyone." A pause, silent except for the small sound of the gentle scraping of the sharp hook. Hound felt like he might be at the dentist. "First Aid might, though."

"What?"

The Jeep jerked his head around, and lo and behold, there was First Aid, a wiry little mech holding a datapad off to the side. "Nice to see you too, Hound."

"What is ze doing here? I thought ze was in Korea or something with Sideswipe and Blaster."

"I was," the mech replied with a chirp. "But they decided to ship all of us back to try and ease tensions after the death of Kim Jong Il. But apples don't seem to fall far from the tree, so to speak, so I predict our return will be requested soon."

Eesh.

_I am not cut out for international relations._

"Alright kid, now what I'm gonna do next is set his damage threshold up to about 780, which should cover the procedure. Hound, let me know if you're in pain so I can adjust that if need be." The senior medical officer began fiddling with a panel in his chest, opening it up to reveal his mechanical insides.

Suddenly everything went numb. "How come Aid's over here taking notes? I thought this was pretty routine?"

"It is," Ratchet said, returning to where he was beside Hound's head. "But not really. First aid, hand me those tension calipers."

"Hey, what's the big idea? I thought you were just replacing my old equipment!"

"He's giving you an upgrade," First Aid said, trying to bury his excitement.

Hound gave Ratchet a confused look. Or at least, he thought he did. It was hard to tell when you couldn't feel much of anything. "I thought everyone here had standard fixed optics?"

The calipers soon obscured his entire field of vision as Ratchet worked at prying the good sensor out. "Well, Wheeljack came up with a new prototype for a pair of _active_ lenses, and for some reason or another, thought you would be a good guinea pig."

_I __wonder __why__._

Suddenly, everything went dark as the medic removed the optic. "He also said something about you owing him." Owing him! As though cleaning up one of his messes wasn't favor enough. "Okay Aid, now it's just your typical removal procedure..." There was a tiny tug on his face as wiring was yanked from its moorings. "Any leaking," he continued. "Should be stopped with a little mist of liquid nitrogen. But this looks to be a pretty clean excision."

Hound was sensing the world around him in other ways, now. Sound, heat, and density painted a pretty full picture for him, enough that he could sense what each of the medics were doing in fine detail and where they were around him, but he'd grown rather... attached to his binocular ability to see in the visible spectrum since living with Astrid.

"Is this the medical bay?"

Speak of the devil!

"Come on in, Miss Schneider. I might ask that you go to that compartment over there and put on one of those suits before coming any closer, though. Exposed circuitry doesn't like dust, I'm afraid."

"Of course. How are you holding up over there, Hound?" He could hear and sense her opening up a closet near the floor designed to house such apparel.

"Oh, I'm doing alright. We just got started, really. I thought you'd be gone longer?"

She walked closer after putting on the plastic scrubs, and took her station beside Ratchet's leg. There was no way she'd be able to see what was going on all the way down there—the berth came up to Hound's waist—but it made him feel good to know she was there for support nonetheless.

"I would have showered, but you still have my bag."

"Aw jeez, I knew I was forgetting something..."

"Well, Ratchet, if my smell offends you, you know who to blame."

The medic chuckled. "Miss Schneider, this is my assistant and student, First Aid."

"I was in Korea!" ze said.

"Yes, I'm sure it's a lovely country." Hound could sense the medic grin and shake his head. "Now, Hound, you've got a little structural damage here in your right socket, but it's nothing I can't repair. After that your hardware is going to need a little retrofitting to be compatible with your new optics, and lastly will be installation and diagnostics."

"How long will it take?"

"Oh, five, six breems, er... about an hour. Assuming your systems take to the new equipment without much hassle."

"Let's hurry it up, then. I can't imagine you're the only one unhappy about us being late."

.

As Ratchet predicted, the operation took all of an hour, even with the cosmetic reconstruction that needed to be done. In no time at all, Hound's pain and feeling sensors were tuned back down to their normal range and he sat up on the edge of the berth, able to feel himself again.

"I'm gonna boot your optical systems again," the medic informed him, opening a tiny panel on the back of his head and using a very fine, almost needle-like precision instrument to toggle the tiny circuitry there. "It might startle you."

Hound waited patiently through the visual blackout for another moment, and then... _bam_. A sharp, but brief jolt of pain shot through his head, causing him to recoil from the light and sudden onslaught of visual information and cover his face with his hand. Ratchet was there to steady him.

"Are you okay?" Astrid's voice.

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned. "But still, _ow_."

"You'll be alright," reassured the ol' doc. "Give it a minute to adjust."

There was something strange about the new sensor nets right off the bat, he noticed. He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was until he started uncovering his optics slowly and sought for a reading on...

_Oh, no. No way._

"Where's my interface?" Hound whispered, touching around the new hardware as though it would help. He looked around the medbay, focusing on various objects and light sources, expecting to be fed visual information about what he was looking at. "These don't have an interface!" He was extremely uncomfortable with this idea. "I want my fixies back."

"Ratchet, what's wrong with him? Why is he freaking out? Is he rejecting the new optics?"

"These prototype active optics have no interface, miss Schneider," First Aid informed her. "Losing it is something akin to blindness for us, especially for those who default to the visual UI versus the UI for other sensory input."

Ratchet had his hands on Hound's arms, who absolutely didn't like this one bit. "Dammit, Hound, at least try them for a while. They feed the data from your UI directly into your CPU, if you hadn't noticed already, so you're not missing out on anything."

He threw his arms up. "Then why give me these instead of simply replacing the old ones? I used fixies for my entire military career, and they worked just _fine_ for me, thanks."

Ratchet groaned. "Are you even using them? If you'd at least _look __around_ a bit, you'd _notice_ they are in fact an upgrade."

Hound begrudgingly did as he was told, and looked around, concentrating on what that felt like. He realized that his field of vision was... was wider, somehow. And there was something else, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

"Come down here," Astrid asked, patting the side of his leg. "I want to see."

The green mech jumped off the side of the berth and knelt down in front of her. "What do you think?"

Astrid's own eyes widened upon seeing them, though. "Oh my god," she exclaimed with a little laugh. "Hound, you have _pupils__._ I mean, you did before but... these are way more visible."

"I... do?"

Ratchet snorted. "You didn't hear me when I said _active __lens_? That means movable parts, a 160 degree field of vision—which is the highest out of any of us, mind you—and zoom capabilities."

"Zoom?" Hound's mouth fell open and he stood back up. "You didn't tell me these were zoom lenses?"

"I was going to say something, but I don't much like to interrupt," said First Aid. "You were quite upset there for a moment."

"Yeah but, why me? Why not Jazz, or... or Mirage? I'm just a—"

"You're a tracker and a scout, remember? You're our best eyes and ears. And I know it's been almost a year since you got into a fight, but it seems like there's going to be some front lines coming your way here soon. You'll probably need 'em."

Hound twisted up his mouth and thought for a moment. "You're probably right." He turned his new optics around the room again, determined to get used to the more... organic feel of them. The irony of him spending so much energy envying organicness and now being so uncomfortable with these new optics was not lost on him.

Working out the zoom was a little tricky at first, but after a minute he started to get the hang of it. Sooner or later, he predicted, it would come as naturally as changing shape, and innately "understanding" what his visual data was telling him would soon follow. Hound's eyes passed over Astrid standing at his feet, and he zoomed in on her chest, the corner of his mouth turning upward into the faintest of smirks. _Wow__, __it __was __a __figure __of __speech __before__, __but__... __I __can __actually __look __out __of __the __corner __of __my __eyes __now__! _"Well Ratch, I gotta say that you did a pretty excellent job. And that I'm still surprised that I get to be the first terran Autobot to have a pair of these."

"Yeah," Astrid said up to them. "Thanks a ton for doing that. It was almost getting to the point where I had to put a bag over his head."

The three of them laughed and Hound gave her a gentle nudge with his big foot. "Oh you're getting one later for that, missy."

She stuck her tongue out at him then followed it up with a blown kiss.

"Yuck," Ratched turned away in feigned disgust and waved at them dismissively. "Go see Wheeljack already. He'll be far more fascinated by your oddities."

"You sound jealous, Ratchet," Hound quipped. He was surprised that he made a snappy comeback at all, to be quite honest... normally, he would have gotten on the defensive. "Look, if you want pick-up advice, all you have to do is ask."

"Don't get me wrong, Miss Schneider; I love humans. Just, you know... not in a creepy way."

"Come on, Astrid," Hound said, picking her up and giving Ratchet a mischievous look over his shoulder. "We should go... don't want the poor medic to catch the knee-high love bug."

First Aid turned to his mentor, confused. "Wait, anthropophilia is infectious?"

Ratchet half-sighed and half-laughed. "No, Aid, it's not. And thank Primus for that."

"You're just old-fashioned!" Hound called as they exited, door closing behind them.

.

"I never pegged you as a shrink, 'Jack," Hound said as they sat down in the scientist's office, setting Astrid on the edge of his desk.

"Oh, of course not," he laughed. "Skyfire was going to do it, but there were a few _special_ questions I wanted to ask."

"Uh, I'm not sure I'm too keen on spilling my guts to a guy that's barely qualified to be a professional listener," Astrid said, giving him a humorous side-eye.

Wheeljack waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair. "What? Conducting a psych evaluation can't be _that_ hard." He picked datapad up from the desk in front of him and scrutinized it. "Look, I've got all the questions I'm supposed to ask right here. Look, here's one for you, Astrid: tell me about your mother."

She snorted. "You can't be serious. Who wrote those?!"

"I'm just kidding!" he laughed. "Sheesh, you've got no faith in me, huh. I'm crushed."

"Yeah, you're something alright," Hound said with a smile, rolling his brand-spankin' new eyes. "Thanks for these, by the way. They're really quite something."

"What, the optics? Nah, it was nothin'. Besides, you're the one doing all the field testing..." Wheeljack winked, nodding at Astrid very conspicuously. "Eh? Eh?"

Hound put his face in his hand, spark running a little hot. Astrid laughed awkwardly. "Okay, you're just embarrassing yourself now. Let's get this show on the road."

"Alright, but don't think I won't come back to it, because I will. _Erhem_." He paused to do something with the datapad. "Okay. Are the two of you comfortable being interviewed together?"

Hound looked at Astrid, who met his gaze. She shrugged, and he shrugged too. "Fine by me," she said. The Jeep nodded.

"How do you two feel right now?"

He got the vibe that she wanted him to answer the questions first. "We... er, _I_ feel pretty good, I think. I think today is the first day my spirits really have been up since, well..." He wasn't sure whether or not to go there, so he didn't. "For the past week. And even before then, it was a little tough."

"Tough?"

"Well, you know... the project is stressful, even without the... disruptions."

Astrid spoke. "Yeah, we've been going through some rough patches on all fronts. We, uh... got into a bad argument last night, but I think we moved past it and things feel good now."

"May I ask what you were arguing about?"

The pair shifted uncomfortably. "It's kind of a long story," Hound said, scrunching up his face.

Wheeljack lifted his legs and dropped them onto the top of the desk, reclining even further back into his chair. Astrid jumped. "I've got time."

"Lets keep this short and sweet," mumbled Hound, looking at his knees and rubbing the back of his head. "I don't know how much you—or anyone else, really—knows about what our relationship was before moving in together."

"We were basically each others' dirty little secrets," Astrid explained. "'Dirty' being the operative word, here. Um... in a nutshell what happened was that I got hurt doing something stupid, met him, we clicked, did something stupid together, and learned that it was actually OK and something we wanted. Well, me getting hurt threw my life completely off-track. I lost my job, had to move someplace cheaper where I could start new. Then BREME came in, telling us they had plans for the area, and wanted to know if I was on-board."

"And you hesitated?"

"Of course I hesitated. This was a secret government racket run by a bunch of creepy people in black suits whose first names are all "agent". You know? And what am I? I'm a camper and a hiker. My special skills, up until that point, was knowing how to piss in the bushes without getting it on myself and identify tree leaves. I was _supposed_to work for Fish and Wildlife Services, but they sort hijacked my entire life and gave me this offer I couldn't really refuse." Hound lowered his eyes, suddenly not quite as happy as he'd been before.

"What sort of offer?"

She sighed. "It felt like they were holding us hostage. It was going to be their way or the highway."

"So everything you're doing is for the sake of you's relationship."

"No!" She stole a glance at Hound. "No, I did what I felt was best for the _both_ of us. I'd just bought a house; I needed money for the mortgage. I needed insurance. Therapy was expensive. I... wanted us to be able to live together, and this guy can't exactly navigate a place with 8-foot ceilings."

"You're currently seeing a professional?"

"I _was__._ PT and counselling, but BREME's plan, I later found out, doesn't cover mental health services."

"Hm." A pause. "And Hound?"

"My side of the story is pretty similar, except for, well... the obvious."

"What's "obvious"?"

"Me being..." he gestured with his hand something very tall. "And her..." Then something much smaller. Hound shrugged. "Different species, different everything, really. I just didn't _fit_ into her world. Literally and figuratively. But I liked her so much that I wanted to see if there was something we could do to compensate for that."

"...and then along came BREME with this offer you couldn't refuse."

"Bingo. They were going to try their damnedest to get me up there for that anyways, so I figured, hey, it might be worth a shot. I guess... I guess I didn't realize how much of a fish out of water she would be with the whole thing. I'm a career soldier; I don't know much else _but_ this. I didn't see that it would mess her up so bad." Hound couldn't help but reach out and rest his hand beside where she sat on the desk, legs dangling off the edge. She put her hands on his.

"Astrid, you got any family, friends? Any outside influences?"

"Friends, yes, though they're all back in California. They never found out about him. And family, yes. They did find out, and that's sort of an ongoing battle right now. We kind of left in the middle of all that."

"You mind if I ask why you're still together? What you think is keeping the relationship from falling apart?"

"I think we have very different needs that the other is able to meet almost perfectly."

"Like what?"

"Oh come on, 'Jack, you've read my file," Hound snapped unintentionally. _Primus__, __when __is __this __going __to __stop __being __a __sore __spot __for __me__? I'm happy to make jokes one minute but can't take 'em the next._

"Pretend I haven't. Pretend that I'm a Zergborzian from planet X, and I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That would be pretty counter-productive," the green mech said flatly.

"Okay fine, pretend I'm a stranger then."

"I'm a hands-on mech, acutely synchronized with my tactile sensor-net with a particular affinity for organic life and modes of socialization."

"That's a pretty clinical definition for someone who's been plagued by feelings of inadequacy, depression, and symptoms of addiction (by Cybertronian standards) his whole life because of it."

"I get by," Hound grumbled.

"So tell me what this particular human being brings to the table that you haven't been able to find anywhere else, in any other system, for the past several million years."

He looked at Astrid, touching the side of her leg with a finger. "Well, the fact that she is able to appreciate me for everything I am instead of pretend some parts of me don't exist while focusing on others. She... she's organic."

"Why's that a bonus?"

"She actually craves physical contact, just like me. Her body is made to touch and be touched, to sensually interact with her environment and other humans. I don't know, I just like the way she _feels_. Half the other species we've encountered get together in ways that I don't even understand. And that's just logistically-speaking."

"What do you think, Astrid?"

"I, er... I guess, with advanced age comes advanced patience, really. He's quick to some things more than others, but when it comes to me, I know that I could deliberate about something for a decade and he'd still be there, waiting for the answer. He's fun, smart, funny, and all the other things you'd see on the back of a romantic comedy movie box." She laughed. "And you wouldn't think it, but he's really great at giving hugs."

"Nothing else?"

Hound saw her hesitate, thinking. There was more, but she just didn't want to say it. "I, uh..." She swallowed. "I like the way he handles me."

"Handles?"

"Every time he, er... picks me up, or does something like that... it's a real thrill. I don't know. It's a little scary sometimes, but it's mostly good and exhilarating."

"So you get a rush from being around him so closely."

"I guess you could say that."

"Adrenaline, endorphins..?"

"That sort of thing, yeah."

"You said earlier that you met Hound by doing something stupid. Care to elaborate?"

"Well, it was a backpacking trip that I decided at the last minute to do by myself."

Hound felt that Wheeljack didn't quite understand the gravity of that situation, so he jumped in: "It's sort of the #1 no-no for that sort of thing."

"I getcha. Now why did you go when you knew that it was a bad idea? Were there people telling you not to do it?"

Astrid's shoulders slumped. "Everyone was telling me not to do it, but I guess I just wasn't listening. The unanimous dissent almost made me want to do it more."

"So you felt like you had something to prove by going through with it despite the circumstances."

"No," she shook her head and looked at the ceiling as though she'd find her motivation written out up there. "It wasn't quite that. It was like, yes, I could go out and meet the trail on my terms without that... interference, I guess. Just me and the forces of nature." She laughed. "I almost want to say that I felt like a junkie waiting for her next hit."

_A __junkie__?_

"Interesting choice of words."

"It's this feeling I get when I'm out, and sweating, and there's dust covering my face and either the sun or the rain is beating down on my back, with the earth under my feet and the sky above my head... there's nothing like being on the mountain and having your humanity shoved down your throat. Being reminded of your own existence is heady stuff."

"Heady enough to go after that feeling at the risk of your own safety? You own life?"

"Way I see it, being alive is risky enough as it is. There's a million things out there every day that can kill me. Chasing mortality is me owning it and revelling in it instead of being afraid."

"But you are afraid."

"Of course I am. Fear is an essential part of that experience. Without it, the whole thing is meaningless."

"Were you afraid when you first met him?"

Astrid chewed her lip. "Yes."

"How did you wind up meeting a second time?"

"He suggested it. I was getting cabin-fever because I couldn't walk, so he offered to take me out for the afternoon and get me out of the house."

"What made you say yes? You were nervous, right? I mean, here was this huge, alien creature—nevermind that he wouldn't hurt a fly if he didn't absolutely have to—who was invading your space by coming onto your property and revealing himself to you. You had no idea who he was or what he was capable of. You didn't know if he had ulterior motives. Why would you willingly go with him?"

"I was in a state of shock, I was curious... my whole world had just turned itself over...I'd been housebound for a while and couldn't do anything. It was going to be a breath of fresh air."

"Sounds like you were jonesing. How many other people do you know would have done the same thing?"

Astrid shook her head a little, staring at her hands. "Nobody," she muttered. Wheeljack nodded and Hound sighed.

"What was the stupid thing you two did together that later turned into a valuable learning experience?"

Astrid was quiet, so he spoke up. "Remember how I disappeared after that power plant incident earlier this year? That's where I went. We both got drunk to drown our sorrows and, well..."

Wheeljack gave him a look. "Well?"

"We..." Hound winced. "Had sex."

"How much did you know about human sexual behavior back then?"

"Not much? But enough to think I knew what I was doing after a few drinks, and enough to know that I was curious about it. I don't remember too much. Afterward, she was really upset—"

"Terrified, really," Astrid muttered.

"All the typical worries ran through my head: what if I'd hurt her, what if she'd hurt herself, what if she hated me forever, what if, what if, what if."

"Did it occur to you that maybe she was responsible for what she did that night too?"

"Well, she was drunk—"

"And so were you."

"I know, I know. Later on we decided that there was no "fault" to be thrown at either of us, and we started fresh, because there was something there. Drunk, sloppy sex wasn't it, but there was something."

"And the device is working out for you two?"

Hound and Astrid eyed each other before looking away.

"Uh..."

"Hmm..."

"Didn't feel like anything was missing before," Astrid offered, clearing her throat. "But it's uh... it's a lot of fun."

"I feel," Hound began, wondering how to phrase things. "I feel more at home, in a way?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, it's like that "my body is my castle" thing."

"Temple," Astrid corrected.

Hound rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "Whatever."

"That's a pretty uniquely human sentiment."

"Yeah, well, not knowing such a sentiment existed caused me all sorts of grief over the years."

Wheeljack nodded in a sympathetic sort of way, pausing to look things over. He was going to change the subject, Hound could tell.

"Do either of you experience mood swings? Does it feel like you're happy one minute and sad the next?"

"What, do you mean bipolar disorder?" Astrid asked.

"Not exactly. But does it just feel like your moods change a lot?"

Hound fell silent for a moment and thought. It sounded like Astrid was doing the same. "Yeah," he confirmed after a moment. "But it feels—"

"Circumstantial?" Astrid finished for him, looking his way for affirmation.

Hound nodded. "It doesn't feel random or unwarranted. It feels like it's always in response to something."

"Whether it's him, or something going on at work or with my life." She gave his middle finger a squeeze.

"There's just been a lot of general sort chaos these past few months. It doesn't feel like we've had time to sit and take stock of everything going on."

"Understandable," said Wheeljack, leafing through the datapad. "What do you think of the Bureau?"

Hound and Astrid glanced at each other. "Depends on who gets access to this when its done," he said at length.

"It's _oh__-__three_."

"Oh-three?" she asked.

""Our Optics Only"."

"Ah, well in that case... scumbags."

"_Scary_ scumbags," Hound elaborated. "We get treated little better than dogs, it feels like."

Astrid folded her arms. "It's obviously because they know what would happen if they lost control of you guys. You're practically slave labor."

"And how has your ability to carry out work orders been impacted by all of this? Do you think you'll be able to return to the job site and function optimally?"

"I think," Hound began. "That there's going to be some major changes when we get back. Ideally, yes, but we'll have to see about what kind of mess we left behind. Can't really blame us for wanting to lie low for a couple days after all that shit."

Wheeljack flipped through his datapad some more before taking his feet off the table and setting them on the floor. "Hmm... well, I think that about wraps things up. I mean, I've got some other questions here I can ask you, like what your favorite color or wavelength is—"

"No," Astrid said. The two mechs turned toward her. "I'm not done yet. There's something I want going on record."

"Er... okay," Wheeljack said, setting the pad down to listen.

"After the fire, I..." she stopped, trying to figure out how to say it. "I was in a fog. I'm scared of some things now that I wasn't before, but... I realized that there's a lot that I'm _not_ scared of."

Hound looked at her, concerned. "...Astrid?"

"Hound, it's okay. I've got some issues to deal with, I know that much. I'm going to need a lot of therapy. But there's another part of me—a big part—that feels emboldened now. Yesterday made me realize that I can do a lot."

"Yesterday?"

Hound shut off his optics and shook his head. "That's a long story too, and is the reason we're here."

"Okay, okay, you don't have to tell me all of it right now; I'm sure I'll find out soon enough. Astrid, gimme a summary of how you came to this realization."

"Last time I was here, Hound taught me how to shoot." She paused, chewing on her lip. "I was scared shitless of holding that thing, and I nearly had a panic attack from pulling the trigger." A deep breath and long sigh. "But yesterday I was attacked by the thing that tried to kill me last week, and... I don't know. Hound managed to get the gun out of its hand and then suddenly I had it. It... the whole thing is this blur to me now. I just remember having it and pointing it at him and wanting so bad to hurt it, to make it feel even half of what it made me feel. I felt strong, and I felt fearless. It was a rush."

"You know, I think you really need to be careful where you're getting these kicks, lady," 'Jack warned, breaking his professionalism. Hound looked down at her, this small, frail creature sitting on the edge of the desk, and was thinking the same thing. It wasn't the first time he'd heard something like that, no— he'd heard it countless times over the course of the war, and it usually spelled trouble.

Astrid really felt that way?

"I know! I know." Hound could feel her heart racing. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... if it ever came time to fight or flee, I think... I think I might seriously consider fighting now."

"Astrid, you're not a soldier..." Hound murmured, putting his face in his hand. "You don't belong in a firefight. I would pick you up and personally carry you to safety if it came to that."

"Yeah, whatever," she muttered.

"She sounds pretty convinced, Hound."

Hound waved his hand at her. "We'll cross that bridge if, Primus forbid, we come to it."

"I think I'd be of _fine_ use," she whispered.

The Jeep couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Look, you don't want to fight— you got a taste of revenge is all. They're not the same. Not by a long shot."

"I could learn if I had to. And besides: if I've can expedite my healing now, then I can't possibly be as much of a lia—"

Wheeljack stood up straight. "Wait a minute... expedited healing?"

"Yeah, I've had second degree burns heal in almost a week. A gunshot wound closing up in the same amount of time. It's been awhile since my high school biology class, but that sounds fast to me."

"I don't know all the numbers off the top of my CPU either, but that doesn't sound right." The scientist thought for a moment. "Astrid, would you mind letting Ratchet take some blood tests?"

"I, uh... sure? What, now?"

Wheeljack got up, ushering them out. "Ayep. It's a curious enough of a development that I don't think he'll mind us interruptin'."

_Well__, __okay__..._ Hound thought as he stood up and reached out his hand for his human to step into. She did, standing on his bulky forearm and holding onto his shoulder as they filed out of the lab office. While, on the surface, a speedy recovery was nothing but great, he couldn't help but notice a shadow of doubt linger in the back of his mind. Nothing, it seemed, happened anymore without something about it having bad repercussions.

Why should be think this would be any different?

_A __junkie__..._

Was his girlfriend an endorphin addict? It would certainly explain their conversation the day before. Once again, he felt the worry begin to creep back into the corners of his CPU.


	14. Sunday Bloody Sunday

A prick in the crook of the arm, and that was that. Astrid swallowed tensely as Ratchet moved away from her to stick the tiny vial of blood into a machine to be processed. She kept her eyes on the floor, darting from one mech's pair of feet to another, leg bobbing up and down nervously as she held the pad of her thumb to the site of the pinprick. Ratchet hadn't had cotton balls or medical tape readily accessible.

"Well," grunted the medic as he examined one of his suspended screens. "It's pretty obvious as to what's going on."

She cleared her throat, lips keeping in a tight line and body still while the other two leaned in. Hound was very clearly apprehensive.

"And?" he asked.

Ratchet stepped away, grabbing at a handle on the side of the viewer and maneuvered it to face them all. On it was a snapshot of the blood cells, suspended in plasma... with little black specks dotting the image. Her kneejerk reaction was that of terror—too many times had she seen microscope slides of human fluid run amok with deadly little uglies—but the medic's explanation came shortly after. "She's got nanenes growing in her bloodstream." Her fears were... abated?

Wheeljack chuckled a little. Yes, fears abated. "I wonder how those got there..."

She turned a bit red, and wondered why she still bothered with that reaction. It's not like any of the others could even begin to conceive of what human sex was. "Good grief," Astrid mumbled.

"Okay, so it's no secret how they got there," Hound fussed, throwing up his arms and beginning to pace in a small circle. "What I want to know is what they're _doing_. How are they able to help?"

Ratchet shook his head and sighed. "I couldn't tell you just from looking at this. Figuring it out would take time and resources we just don't have. Not to mention we'd never get the proper permissions either..."

"Oh not us," Wheeljack scoffed. "But I'm sure _they'd _be more than up for stickin' her fulla machines and finding out themselves."

Astrid shuddered. "I wouldn't doubt it for a second."

Hound stopped in his tracks and gave the white and gray mech a tired, pleading look. "Don't even say things like that, 'Jack. It's hard enough to fall asleep these days as it is."

He responded by folding his arms. "Well, it doesn't make me any less right."

"And that's why," Ratchet broke in authoritatively. "...we're not going to talk about it." The medic pushed the screen back up and out of the way. "The important part is that you're not dead, Schneider. Now, until you start growing wire for hair and sweating buckshot, consider this case closed, alright? You're not to mention this ever again."

She nodded, turning to Hound, whose optics were off. Clearly he was envisioning what horrors lay in store for them should the secret make it back to their government overlords.

"I wonder if they have thought to study it," he wondered quietly.

"Study what?" came a voice from behind them.

Ratchet tilted his head in the direction of the door. "Nanenes."

"Of course they would," he replied without skipping a beat. "That likelihood has been discussed before at length, and if they'd done so we'd have known a long time ago," he said, pausing to give everyone a hard look. "But right now, your presences are required in Prime's quarters. We have new information."

—

"It's transmitting a signal," one of the communications specialists called out from where he sat at the computer terminal. He was located in containment facility A3 of what was publicly known as Nellis Air Force Base... Groom Lake, Dreamland, Area 51.

From their post on the viewing deck, they looked out over the ground floor, where in the center was installed a sort of transparent holding chamber. Its hasty construction was readily apparent, from the haphazard welding, to the roughly cut pieces of metal, some of which was likely repurposed. Inside the thing, stuck with needle-like apparatuses, was an undulating glob of metal. It shone like polished platinum, but moved like mucous, and clearly had a mind of its own.

"Then shut it down," replied a woman in uniform, stars on her lapels.

"W...we're not sure how to, sir. This one is absolutely _nothing_ like the others. No circuitry, no moving parts, no processing equipment, nothing. And not to mention that our dampeners are still in the prototype stage..."

"Then get that team in here then so they can figure out how to deal with this thing, and ASAP. There's no telling who it's talking to."

_Help you?_ The tone of the data packet coming from the other end of the comm line chilled Codec to the carbon tubing of his nanenes.

_Soundwave—_Master—_please! I—_

_Your mission resulted in quite a critical failure of my plan. We could have had them already if it weren't for you._

_Master, but you forget that I am intrinsically valuable to your ambitions! Have you forgotten my abilities? My skills? My—_

_This phase of our purpose is done and your usefulness is antiquated, Codec. The time for subtlety is over, I'm afraid. Feel free to tell the fleshbags whatever you wish._

Static.

"Got it!" an engineer shouted excitedly from the computer terminal, her team surrounding her as she furiously typed commands to the containment module.

Standing next to the woman in uniform were two BREME agents, likely of high station. They stood in silence, eyes turning from the team of engineers to the module on the floor with its liquified prisoner.

"So it can turn into anything?" she asked the two.

"As far as we know," the first one replied. "You remember what it looked like before we hooked it up to those wave generators, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, it actually looked like _something_. A badly beaten something, but still something." She paused and thought some, eyes still locked on the rippling, metallic mass inside. "But this isn't something we can weaponize and use against the others, can we? Can it be reprogrammed?"

"No, sir." Her rank, Major General, was a little cumbersome to say. "This one's physiology is completely different than that of the Autobots and Decepticons. We're just keeping it its natural base form. The others, the other body types, are impossible to repurpose with our current knowledge. I'm sure you remember our attempts with #46?"

"That defector, right. Those were long nights." She paused to reminisce. "Well, if we can't brute force into its head, then any chance we can reverse-engineer its attributes?"

"It would take some time, but I'm sure it would be approved as a long-term program."

"Let's see about dedicating resources to putting together a proposal for that. If we could get wearable suits out of that tech, or anything, really, it would be worth it."

"Our top priority _right __now_ is Alaska." The BREME agent looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "We need to reach that energon vein before anyone, or anything, else. If we fail on that front, things will get inconvenient."

"And our EDW middlemen are going to want their cut soon as well," said the other.

"We've blocked all transmissions," a technician called out from the computer bank and a worker on the floor in bright orange gave a thumbs up. "That thing is officially stuck in limbo."

"Speaking of the EDW, sir, how is our relationship with them these days? Still functional, I hope?" The military woman began to walk, arms folded, away from the scene.

The BREME agents, whose rank was impossible to discern by simply looking at the effects of their black suits, followed.

"Barely," the first casually replied. "The membership of the child organizations can't be regulated, obviously. That's our primary cause for concern. That sort of indiscretion cost us earlier this year: a local incident involving a low-information group harassing one of the aliens. Fortunately, they have no influence in the wider community."

"That was #12, right?"

The agent nodded.

"What of 12, by the way? Has he been spotted yet?"

"No, sir. We suspect he's fled back down to AHQ; possibly spooked by the attack."

"Spooked?" The woman turned to a computer technician nearby. "Specialist, bring up the file for ETU N12."

Pictures of Hound appeared on the screen, accompanied by his physical specifications, offensive and defensive capabilities, and summary of his psych profile. The woman leaned in close to glance at some of the lines before straightening up again.

"Says here he's got a close human companion?"

"He's our unit for the field work in Alaska and the female is on the project as well."

"Seems to me he's likely protecting the both of them right now. Spooked _and_ attached. Get Portland on the horn; I want to know what they're doing down there."

—

Astrid stood in Hound's palm, hand on his shoulder for balance. Prime's office was crammed full of metal bodies, with a small, nearly human-sized mech standing on the desk.

"So I did the search," said the small robot, bringing up a slide of the enzyme's custom-made container on a screen. Next to it was brought up another screen with lines of text listing what appeared to be chemical names. What the container was made from, she guessed. "And found only 7 companies in the North American region who worked with such expensive materials as our container was made from."

"And how many abroad?" asked Optimus.

The small mech lowered its gaze to the floor. "14 in China, 3 in Germany, and 1 in Japan."

"Ouch," Jazz mumbled.

"What I did find, however, is that out of the 25 total manufacturers, 4 of them are currently honoring contracts with the US government. All of them domestic."

The room remained firmly silent, listening to the report with all sensors trained on the small mech.

Rewind continued. "We can get at least one bot to each location within the next 8 hours: Softek in Newark, Havis Design Solutions in San Antonio, Hopf & Matton in Madison, and Knox Industries, LLC outside of Fresno." Each name was accompanied by a slide displaying the manufacturer's premises.

"Who do we have near those cities?" Jazz asked, turning to Prowl and rubbing his chin.

"Ironhide's in New Jersey, Mirage and Smokescreen are in San Francisco, Arcee, Glyph, and Blurr are stationed in Arizona, and Hot Rod is in Michigan along with Skids. We can have them mobilized and on their way within the hour."

Jazz nodded. "And under BREME's, nose, too. It'll be nothing but a harmless little detour for them."

"Correct," said Rewind. "They can reach the designated premises, hack the servers, and see if they can locate who made that purchase in no time."

"Send out the order, Jazz," Optimus said grimly, with a wave of his hand. "We need to get this underway as soon as possible, otherwise—"

There was the sound of feet running down the hall, stopping at Optimus Prime's door. A mech of several colors, red, white, black, and yellow, and of unwieldy shape, leaned in. "BREME's on the line, sir," he said, frowning.

"Patch them in," Optimus said with something of a sigh. "Jazz, if you could answer. And everyone else... please stay quiet."

Jazz stepped forward to the edge of the desk and, bracing himself against it with one arm as though he were carrying a heavy load, made a gesture at the multi-colored mech in the door, who nodded in return.

"AHQ, this is Jazz," he said aloud with the chirp of a well-paid phone operator.

"Ah, number 3. This is Agent Reed from the Arizona branch. Always a pleasure to speak with you."

Jazz gave a hollow laugh. "That's why they put me on the phones, sir. What can I be doing for you today, Agent Reed?"

"Well, we seem to have lost an Autobot, actually, and wanted to know if you had his location We would like to thank him for the gift he left us up in Anchorage."

Astrid swallowed and tightened her grip on her mech.

The Porsche shifted weight from one leg to the other. "And which one of us would that be, sir?"

"None other than 12."

Jazz looked about the room—the numbering system, Astrid guessed, was one that BREME used far more often than they—pointing at Hound just to make sure. The Jeep nodded in uneasy confirmation and she felt his body slump a little. Optimus gestured at his 2IC to continue.

"Yeah, he's here, my man. Getting debriefed and all that."

"Well, when you're done with him, if you could send him to us because we've got a little debriefing to do as well. A plane will be leaving from PDX in 3 hours... he better be on it."

"Can do, sir."

"Oh, and one more thing: tell him that if he bypasses us like again that for any reason, he's under suspension. It's a shame to see such a good Autobot get so unruly and contentious. We'd prefer to have everyone's cooperation in this."

"Sure thing, sir."

After a moment, Jazz stood up and waved his hand, head slumped. It was everyone's cue to let out their proverbial breath.

"_Suspension?_" Hound groaned.

"Well, just don't do it again," suggested Rewind. "Three strikes and all that."

"The way things are going, I... I just don't know anymore. I feel like they're making things up as they go along, and I don't like it."

Optimus broke in. "Perhaps a change of plans is necessary," he began. "If what Hound said is true, then the Decepticons are planning something big. This isn't something we can handle while staying under the radar. We're going to need their help... and perhaps most of all, their sanction."

"Slaggit, Prime's right," Jazz said, hitting the surface of the desk lightly. "The rules of the game need to change. The current arrangement can't handle a full-on attack."

"So we... _work _with BREME?" Wheeljack asked. "How, exactly, do you propose we propose that? Did yous all forget the incident with the immobilizers? Who knows what they've got in store for us with that kind of tech at their disposal. Frankly, I don't see us getting out from under their thumbs any time soon."

Prime turned to the scientist. "Which is why we change tactics— cooperation and disclosure. Someone out there has biological and chemical weapons that can _wipe __us __out__..._" he turned to everyone here. "And who knows what else. This is our only chance. Jazz, I want you to continue with that directive, but stress that this is light recon. They either pull the relevant information or not, and I don't want anyone doing more than that. Regardless of what we find, we share it with the Bureau. It may open opportunities for us."

"Right on, sir."

"Prowl: I want you to spearhead planning the structural details of this alliance. Bring Skids and Skyfire on board if you need to... it's about time we had some contingency plans."

"Of course, Prime."

"Hound, I suggest you and Agent Schneider get going. It would be unwise to disobey BREME orders at this time."

"But Prime, sir... I don't think..."

"You are the only Autobot that is allowed to be part of that operation right now. So be part of it."

Astrid and Hound nodded at the same time.

"Prime, I'm gonna make a suggestion?" The multi-colored mech stepped inside the room. It seemed as though everyone had forgotten he was there.

"Yes, Blaster?"

"I could send Steeljaw up with 'em."

Astrid furrowed her brows. "Steeljaw?"

Hound shrugged. "Steeljaw _is _small enough for me to easily disguise, and he can get along alright in the warehouse. Get in through the front door, even." He looked to her with those new, concentric optics of his now, tapping his chin with a finger as he thought.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinkin'," Blaster replied, folding his arms. "He'd be there, you know, just in case."

"What do you think, Prowl?"

The black and white mech made no physical indication of his consideration and just stared at the far wall for a few moments in silence. "I can come up with at least 1,083 situations that would end badly if Steeljaw were introduced as a variable. However, as per my calculations, there's about a 46% chance of it ultimately being beneficial, a 23% chance that the Bureau would be indifferent to his presence, and a 9% chance they would commend our 'initiative'."

Jazz threw up his hand. "That's good enough for me. I say send 'im along if you think you can keep him out of their hair, and if they find him, if you think you can sell it."

"And how does this work with the whole playing nice with them thing?" Astrid found herself blurting out.

"He'd be hanging around the warehouse mostly," Hound explained. "Be on call in case there's an attack; he could arrive on the scene faster than anyone down here. He can also provide reconnaissance better than I could given my position." Astrid noticed him shoot a look at Prowl. "His presence will allow us to continue to work at our highest capacity while still having sharp eyes and ears about. Like Prowl said, they might like that. Especially if it were a symbiote instead of a full mech."

"Because of their size," Blaster explained. "I can send 'em damn near wherever I want. They're barely a blip on BREME's radar." He turned to the bot on the desk and gave a little chuckle. "Sorry, Rewind."

"Do I look like I envy those guys getting on your backs all the time? Being second-class is actually a bonus on this planet."

The room filled with grim, heavy laughter for a moment. Astrid felt the weight of an entire history book behind the quip.

"Alright, send him along," Hound decided after a little while. "I'll smuggle him up there and then let him loose, right?"

"Bingo."

Prowl maneuvered his way to the door, pushing past the two of them in a way that Astrid might have thought was aggressive. "I'd like to speak with him before leaving, Blaster. Send him to my quarters, please. And Jazz, if you could send Skyfire in after him so we can begin with this plan. Let me know when Skids is done with his mission so I can get him on the line as well."

Hound furrowed his brows the slightest bit and followed the black and white mech with his eyes as he left. "Come on," he said, turning his great head to look at the human standing in his hand. "We'll go get your things."

—

Astrid wasn't sure how she felt about this whole thing, even as a last ditch effort to create a true coalition that could withstand an attack. The Bureau didn't want to cooperate— in fact, the very idea of cooperation seemed to run contrary to everything they aimed to achieve as an organization. Their priorities weren't with the public, and definitely weren't with the Autobots. The more she thought about it, it even seemed as if its chief concern was simply seeding confusion instead of trying to create order. It existed for the sole purpose of keeping itself relevant.

Nah... with the recent happenings, that was likely too kind of an assessment.

"Have you ever tried going directly to any elected official?" she suggested out of the blue. Astrid zipped up her duffel bag and tossed it up into the air to watch it disappear in a faint flash of light: subspaced.

Hound considered this. "No. Aside from a single video chat with Prime for every newly elected president, BREME has always been the middleman."

"Hmm," she replied, thinking. What would happen if she were to walk into a senator's office? Or a house rep's? What would she say? What would she ask for? Maybe she could start a website, or a petition; some kind of campaign...

No, that would be stupid. This was a cold war coming to a head, not the time for a pity party.

But what about Hound's story about that one mech... what was his name... Tailgate? He was murdered for nothing, and the Bureau answered to no one. They had no need for laws, so they operated outside of them.

"Are there stories of anyone getting out?"

"Getting out?"

"You know, escaping... this situation."

"We've had a few bots go missing over the years, but if they're alive and well out there, then they haven't tried to contact any of us."

Discouraging news.

"What are you thinking about?" asked the mech. She turned to look up at him, the blue rings of his eyes making the smallest of movements and as he appraised her. Those things would have power over her for some time yet, she thought, mesmerized.

"I want to help all of you. And I may just be in a position now to do so."

"Help?" He put his hands up, then crouched down and put a couple fingers on her shoulder. "No, no, no. You help enough already. All of that back there? With the guns? That's not—"

She shook her head, causing hair to fall into her face. "No. I'm beginning to see that brute force isn't going to be the way to go. There's gotta be something else I can do, something more appropriate given my station and experience."

"Astrid," he said, lowering his voice and his head. "You and I have enough to work through as it is. Let's start with that. Leave the fights to the soldiers, ok?"

"I'm not talking about the Decepticons, Hound," she replied, exasperated about it already. "I'm looking at a completely different picture than you, as good of a scout as you are. I may just be the only one out of us all that can navigate this."

That was that, then. Astrid had the makings of a plan formulating in her mind, the barest of bones, the vaguest of directions, and she would pursue it. But she would have to do it alone. It was too early to let him in on it... she'd keep it to herself rather than risk it dying in the egg.

"But let's forget it for now," she said at length. "You're right, there's lots of other issues to make it through. You trust me, right?" Astrid felt the smooth warmth of his face under her fingers. It was a cheek that was taller than the length of her hand.

"Of course I do. I trust you with my life, as meaningless as that might be coming from me."

She smiled at the sentiment, which was far from meaningless to her. And who knew— maybe someday she would have to save him from a mountain.

"Thanks, Hound," was all she said.

There was another flash behind her; the mech had done away with the bed.

Astrid pulled her phone out of her pocket, glancing at it for the first time since... well, she didn't remember the last time she'd checked it. It'd been at least 2 days. It was mostly out of habit, though; the first visit to AHQ taught her that there was no cell reception in the complex. If her parents were trying to contact her, she wouldn't know until stepping outside.

"Are you two ready to go?" came a gruff voice, tinged with static and slight electronic distortion. The human and the Jeep turned around to see who she assumed to be Steeljaw.

He didn't look anything like Rewind, she noted. In fact, he was a quadruped, about the height of an Irish Wolfhound and twice as thick. His plated skin was dull gold, mingled with some brown and white accents. She noticed a bulk about his neck and shoulders, and she guessed, as it was with most of these Autobots, that it served a fierce purpose.

"Hi there, Steeljaw," Hound greeted. "We're just about ready, aren't we?"

Astrid nodded. "I'd say so."

The mech grunted. "Let's get a move on, then. I don't like being late."

—

Outside, it was foggy and raining. Hound transformed quickly and Astrid rushed inside, shutting the door.

"What's he turn into?"

"He's got three forms," Hound explained while opening his back hatch. Steeljaw leapt inside, laid down, and Astrid watched as he was neatly dismantled and put back together again in the shape of... of a trunk. Or perhaps a suitcase.

She raised her eyebrows. "And luggage is one of them?"

"Storage mode," the golden block said. _Not __much __for __niceties__, __I __guess__, _she thought. Not mean, just blunt. "It's how I combine with my Primary."

"What's your other mode?"

"That's location-dependent— I go between motorbike and all-terrain vehicle several times per terran year."

"Interesting."

Hound had started up and was already some ways down the road, headed in the direction of the city.

"Blaster mentioned that you and Rewind were 'symbiotes'... could you explain that to me?"

"We are born from his spark. If he dies, we die. For every one of _us_ that dies, his energy output is permanently crippled. He takes very good care of us... and we of him."

"That sounds like a very intense relationship..."

"He is also able to faintly detect our primary emotional states... if one of us is in danger, it's a good chance that he knows."

"I don't get it," Hound said with his now disembodied voice. "Why'd he send you?"

"I volunteered."

"Why?" Astrid blurted out, turning around in her seat. She'd forgotten for a moment that he was a shiny, golden box.

"If I'm going to be of any use, it's going to be up there. And I want to be put to use, as small as that use may be."

"Well, I'm honored that you'll be working alongside us," said the car. "Now how about some music. Any stations around here that you like, Steeljaw?"

Astrid tuned them out as she reached into her pocket to check the phone again. Four calls, four voicemails; all from her mother's number. She held the device up to her ear and listened as some patchy radio station turned on in the background.

"_Astrid__, __it__'__s __your __mother__. __Please __call __us __and __tell __us __what__'__s __going __on__, __your __father __and __I __are __very __worried__. __Talk __to __you __soon__."_

"_Astrid__, __please __call __us __back__! __We __have __no __idea __what__'__s __happening__... __a __bunch __of __men __in __black __suits __just __left__. __They __were __going __through __your __things__. __Please __for __the __love __of __god __keep __us __in __the __loop__. __Bye__."_

"_Hi __Astrid__, __this __is __your __father__. __Hope __you__'__re __having __a __good __morning__, __wherever __you __are__. __Please __give __us __a __call__, __your __mother__'__s __worried __sick__. __I __guess __the __good __news __is __that __we __finally __got __hold __of __your __sister__. __Still __not __sure __why __they __we __couldn__'__t __reach __them __before__, __but __she __says __if __we __need __anything __while __we__'__re __up __here__, __they__'__d __be __happy __to __do __what __they __can__. __Hope __to __hear __from __you __soon__, __honey__."_

"_Astrid__, __it__'__s __about __lunchtime __up __here__. __A __man __just __came __by__, __another __suit__, __saying __that __you__'__ll __be __back __later __tonight__. __God__, __I __hope __so__. __Please__, __please__, __please __call __us __as __soon __as __you __get __this __message__."_

She didn't.

—

For boarding the Bureau cargo plane, Hound cleverly disguised Steeljaw as a small crate of high grade energon. He explained to the agent that greeted them at the airstrip that it helped calm the nerves. Apparently it was well known that Wheeljack played the role of brewmaster in his spare time, and they were allowed to board without question.

For the flight up north, Hound and Steeljaw talked much of the time—playing catch-up, she supposed, even though it didn't seem they knew each other very well—while Astrid busied herself with her thoughts, feeling around the injury in her arm absentmindedly.

After about 2 hours, though, she got tired of thinking and asked that Hound bring her bed out. He obliged, and she proceeded to nap.

It was after 5pm when they landed, about 5:30 when they got to the freeway. There was only one suit at the airport to oversee things, and she noticed that he wasn't interested in lecturing them on their continued disobedience. She thought they were awfully trusting of them to head straight back to the warehouse instead of disappear into the city, but it made sense. Both parties knew that they'd follow orders and had no reason to go anywhere else. The realization frustrated her. _We shouldn't be this predictable_, she thought.

After a few minutes, Astrid gathered the courage to call her folks.

"You guys need to hush up for a second," she announced as the phone began to ring. It didn't take long for an answer.

"ASTRID!" shrieked the voice on the other end. "Where are you?! Why haven't you returned our calls?! Your father and I—"

"Mom, mom, calm down. We're about 15 minutes away. I can't talk now, we'll explain everything when we get there, okay?"

"Astrid, don't you dare—"

"I gotta go mom, love you."

Click.

"Your parent units?" asked Steeljaw from the trunk. "How much do they know?"

Astrid sighed and slumped down in her seat. "That I've been hospitalized more times in the past 12 months than the past 20 years. Honestly, they shouldn't even be up here anymore. They should be catching the next flight home."

"They won't want to be anywhere near here when things start going down," said Hound.

"They won't want me to be either. And who can blame them. I'm a stranger to them now... they don't know the half of anything."

"Temporary radio silence," the gold mech suggested.

"What do you mean?"

"Just stop talking to them while things get sorted out and resume communications if you're still alive after."

Still alive... yuck.

"I just might have to," she admitted.

—

_So __Codec__'__s __been __neutralized__?_

The two blue mechs had paused as they passed each other in the dark, dank corridor. One of them had wings.

_Affirmative__. __I__'__ve __left __him __to __the __Bureau__. __It __will __soon __be __your __time.__  
><em>

_How __are __you __so __sure of this plan__, __Soundwave__?_

_Starscream still suspects nothing, the fool, while everything else is falling into place. We have both the Watch and the Bureau right where we want them, while the Autobots face embarrassment after embarrassment. Hook's acid bath is nearing completion— once we have immunity to the enzyme, we will have control over this entire miserable planet._

_Has __Ratbat __successfully __mobilized __the __EDW__?_

_Inasmuch __as __they __are __useful __to __us__. _

_And __to __what __extent __is __that__?_

_To __create __confusion__, __Thundercracker__. __I __can __promise __you __that __the __Autobots __will __be __extinguished __by __human __hands __before __the __week __is __over__: __power __to __the __people__, __as __they __say__._

—

In Tuscon, a woman sat down at her computer and began typing out an email.

_attn__: __Chris__, __et__. __al__.-_

"_Colin__" __gone __missing__; __contacted __by __new __collaborator __to __ensure __timely __delivery __of __goods__. __Please __be __ready __for __pickup _and __deployment __info ___at __location __TBA__. __Reach __out __to __XH __for __possible __assistance__. __Want __eyes __on __the __warehouse__._

_Meet __with __Gary __in __Anch __for __map __and __photos __of __target__. __Wait __for __further __instruction __at __hotel__._

There was some checking of the VPN software to make sure everything was in proper working order, then the note was sent. It would be impossible to trace its computer of origin.


	15. Elanor Rigby

There was a black car parked in the 7-space lot when Hound pulled in. He did a quick sweep of the area to make sure no one was outside and in the vicinity before opening his back hatch and letting Steeljaw leap out and disappear into a wild hedge across the way.

_I'll be around_, came the comm packet.

"Looks like we've got company," Astrid said flatly.

Hound pulled up to the back door and waited for the heavy doors to open and let him inside the security lock. "I hope they're not in there terrorizing your parents."

Astrid snorted. "Terrorizing them by not saying a word is more like it."

_Ka-KLONG _went the door behind them, the pitch blackness pierced by the sweep of a single red light. He was promptly identified and cleared for entry.

_Welcome home, Hound._

_Welcome indeed_, he thought to the soulless machine in reply.

The doors opened up in front of them, flooding them with fluorescent light turned sticky white from bouncing off concrete walls. In the middle of the room, rising from the couch at their arrival, though, were two men dressed like black holes. His spark burned hot at recognizing Agent slagging Doley.

Most evil boss in the galaxy.

Astrid's parents rushed up beside him as Astrid got out (to his slight irritation), heaving a great sigh as he opened the door for her.

Her mother was bursting at the seams with emotion, speaking in half-sentences as the two parents clutched at their daughter. Hound remained there in vehicle mode, awkwardly waiting for the bunch to move aside so he could transform. After a moment, though, Doley, who was standing with his partner some paces away, cleared his throat. They stopped.

"Give the Jeep a little room, please," he said.

Astrid took the opportunity to usher her parents aside. "Don't freak out," she warned listlessly.

Transformation was initiated. Seams burst open, hood cracked into 24 different pieces, cabin splayed open and filled again, undercarriage broke and moved upwards and outwards, tires lifted, side panels shifted, and in a leisurely 3 seconds he planted two feet firmly on the ground, fingers bracing against the floor to push himself up into a standing position. Hound glanced at the floor beside him to see Tracy and Richard looking up at him, dumbstruck. He could feel their hearts racing.

Tracy opened her mouth. "I...it's..."

"I'm a he, thanks," Hound said flatly.

"He's.. big," she wound up whispering to no one. Then she turned to her husband: "Bigger than he looked before..."

Richard whispered back, looking straight at the mech with hard eyes. "That's because he's standing still, dear."

Hound looked at his human and gave a curt nod.

"Mom, dad..." Astrid put a hand on each of their shoulders and began to walk. "If you guys could go upstairs for a bit while we talk down here with these kind gentlemen..." She sent them up the stairs to the living quarters. "I'll let you know when we're done."

Astrid returned back to where Hound was standing and took her place at his side when she was sure they were out of earshot.

Hound was surprised to hear her break the ice. "Alright, what's all this about," she said.

Doley looked surprised as well. "You know damn well what this is about, missy. You two need to tell us what happened at the police station yesterday morning."

"A pretender tried to kill her while she was separated from me," he replied, folding his arms. "End of story."

"_Your _story, maybe," Doley said, gesturing to his partner who reached into a flat file he was holding and pulled out a glossy photo of what appeared to be a snowflake under a microscope. "But not the whole story. Care to explain what this is? We found a sample in the forensics lab. Unfortunately, it seems the evidence has gone missing."

Gone missing? Did Phillips issue a gag order to... to protect them? Whatever the case was, Hound was going to roll with it.

"They showed it to me," Hound said, making sure to speak before Astrid had the opportunity to just in case she didn't notice what he did. "But I have no clue what it is. Looks like the Decepticon stole the thing before carrying out the rest of his mission. If it's in his subspace, then there's no retrieving it from him. Especially if he's dead now." That was only partially true: pretender technology couldn't accommodate subspace pockets. But there was no way for BREME to know that. "All I know is that it's organic and probably Earth-based because we don't do organic back home." Another lie. But again, how would they know without a damn time-machine? Organic tools and beings quickly disappeared from Cybertronian society after the war started.

"Maybe the plan was to disrupt the ecosystem here. Can you imagine what rivers and lakes full of dead animals would do to the water supply?" Astrid suggested, catching on and lending an air of credibility.

Doley eyed them. "We're going to be running tests on the material to determine if it's not something that we're... familiar with already and have the methods to combat if it's indeed a weapon."

Hound wanted so badly to spill about the Decepticons' plans for attack, but it wasn't the time yet. He wanted an official, explicit green-light from Prime before talking.

The Bureau agent reached into his pocket and handed Astrid a business card then. "You have an appointment here tomorrow morning at 9. They're going to check you out and make sure that you're ready to return to work on monday." He studied her for a moment and furrowed his brows a little. "You don't even look like you were shot and burned a week ago."

"I make sure she's well taken care of," Hound butted in.

"I'm sure you do. Now, about that pretender... what do you know about it?"

"They called him Colin," Astrid answered.

"Who did?"

"The other people in the house where they were keeping me. The couple there were collaborators. What did the investigation find about the house? I only ever saw the one room."

"The rest of the place appeared to be in the middle of a renovation; as though it were being turned into some kind of base of operations. The Decepticon was, unfortunately, sure to douse everything that we could potentially salvage. There isn't much left aside from the deed."

"Who were they?" she asked.

"A strange couple," Doley replied, flipping through another file that the other agent handed to him. "Lived there for 15 years, but never married. Two estranged children that they hadn't seen or spoken to since before that and are currently living with extended family in Tennessee. Canceled all their credit cards after purchasing the property and paid for everything in cash, it seems. Hoarded gun ammo and canned food. Looks as if they'd lost it way before this pretender thing came along to take advantage of their paranoia."

Astrid swallowed. "That's... a damn shame."

"We haven't found any evidence yet that they were working alone or with an organization as the investigation is ongoing. We suspect that it was a one-off act of terrorism on their part, however, and a pitiable act of desperation on the part of the Decepticon. By the way, that thing is quite the catch, I can assure you."

Hound didn't like the inconsistency with which this man was talking about Astrid's tenuous safety. It was as if that when her life was in danger, she was expendable. And now that she's still alive, they were being forced to make nice. Then again, it didn't take a shrink to realize that they were two-faced sons of guns.

"Hound, we're going to need you there Monday whether or not Schneider will make it. The main gallery is dug out and your sensors will be needed to help finalize the location of the first exploratory shaft."

He nodded. Doley handed his things back to the other agent.

"Oh and one last thing, Schneider: we're docking your pay."

"What?!"

Hound's mouth dropped open. "You can't do that to her."

"You've got too much freedom with the disposable income you're currently receiving, and we're not sure how we feel about that. Your next deposit will reflect the new amount."

"Which is what?" she hissed.

"$350 a month. But I wouldn't complain if I were you- housing expenses, utilities, and insurance all paid for... you've got it pretty good if I do say so myself."

"How the hell am I supposed to pay for food, gas... new_ clothes _with that kind of money? Where are my goddamned tampons going to come from, Doley, thin air?"

"It wasn't my decision, Schneider. This came from higher up-"

"Oh bullshit," Hound spat.

The agent chuckled. "What do you need new clothes for anyway?" He casually offered. Hound knew he wasn't going to like this. "I'm sure your car boyfriend won't mind you walking around naked. _He _does."

That's it. "Get the _hell out_."

"Now!" Astrid barked.

Hound aimed to kneel down to grab them both and throw them out the door, but Doley's expression shifted from smug to icy. "Don't you fucking touch me," he said in a low voice. The Autobot paused before kneeling down, balling his hands into fists instead.

The two agents headed for the front door at a casual pace, then. When they reached the other side of the warehouse, Doley turned around, though. Always needing that last word.

"Monday, Hound. 5am, or it's suspension for you."

The sound of the metal lever-handle of the door clicking back into it's hole in the strike plate filled the now silent building with a _ka-clack_.

Astrid let out an angry roar when they were gone and started pacing furiously.

"So this is how they're going to trap me, huh? They think they've got me in the bag, huh?" She stopped and turned to Hound. "This is what they're doing to you, aren't they? Controlling your food supply so that only the good Autobots get to fucking _eat_. No wonder they don't need to use force if they're already threatening you with starvation."

Hound pressed his lips into a thin line and let out a gust of a sigh through his posterior chest vents. He wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words before Tracy and Richard crept out from the hallway on the second level.

"Yeah, they're gone," Astrid called out, eyes fixed on the ground.

The jeep got down on one knee and brushed a thumb across her cheek. When she looked up at him there was a very real anger in her eyes. "I hope the plan to make nice works," she muttered. "Because I can see how that might be playing right into their hands."

"I think we all have that worry," he said quietly. He looked up to see her parents walking over to them from the stairs, and he withdrew his hand before realizing that he'd done so.

"Do you guys have a flight booked?" she asked flatly as they came up.

Richard shook his head. "We wanted to be here as long as you needed us."

"You should book the soonest one you can afford. You're not going to want to be here after this weekend, trust me. Work is getting ugly."

"You can't possibly be going back to work next week," Tracy gasped, scrunching up her aged face in horrified confusion. "You should be on disability right now for Chrissake!"

"Things are _complicated_," Astrid grunted. "And trust me, I'm doing fine."

"Let me see your arm," Tracy insisted. When her daughter started walking away, she reiterated more firmly: it wasn't a request, it was a demand.

Astrid stopped and rolled up her shirt sleeve as far as it would go, wincing a little as the bunched up fabric passed over the injury. Her right arm was littered with white squares. Tracy pulled up a pair of reading glasses from where they hung around her neck on a colorfully beaded cord and scrutinized the wound.

"Swelling's gone down," she announced. "A lot."

"Autobot medicine: it cures what ails you," the daughter said flatly, withdrawing her arm from her mother's grasp and rolling the sleeve back down.

"And what, pray tell, did they give you?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said quietly, shooting Hound a knowing look. He gave one of his own in return.

_Monday, _he sent to Steeljaw, somewhere in the vicinity. _It all starts on Monday._

_I will follow you to the site, then, _came the reply.

"I guess I'll go look up flights," Richard said stiffly.

Hound nodded. "That would be wise."

Tracy turned her head toward him with a glare. "This is a family matter," she hissed.

"This is a matter of _safety_," he asserted, scowling right back at her.

"Goddammit, mom, can you please trust me for once? Can you just trust me when I say that I know more about this situation than you do?"

"_Trust you?_" Tracy ripped her cold eyes off of Hound for the time being and focused on her daughter, stepping in close. "You mean like how we _trusted you _that time you said you were sober enough to drive? Like how we _trusted you _when you swore up and down that prom date of yours was a "nice boy"? Like how we _trusted you _when you said you'd had a backpacking partner going with you for that god-damn foolish trip?" She got in closer, and Hound could feel the air temperature skyrocket around them.

"Tracy," Richard whispered, but he didn't make a move.

His wife continued. Her face was red, and Hound could sense all three hearts pounding. "Seems like every time we "trust you" with something, you get yourself hurt."

Mother and daughter stared each other down. Hound wasn't going to claim to understand that he knew much of anything about how blood bonds worked, and this was proving to be a very difficult lesson. He felt afraid to move, almost as if he'd cause an electrical arc to explode between them and their building tension. Spark shivered in its chamber.

Astrid swallowed hard. "Mom," she said quietly, voice solid yet wavering. "You need to let me live my life."

Tracy was fuming, her hands balled into hard fists at her side, nose barely a foot away from Astrid's. Suddenly, and without so much as a glance, her arm shot out and finger pointed accusingly at Hound. He started, mechanical pupils darting from one human face to another before him, suddenly reminded that he was very much there, and very much part of the conversation, whether he liked it or not.

"_I_ _hate this thing_," she spewed. Hound furrowed his brow plates, mouth falling open a little at the possibility of having to defend himself. "I've hated it since day one. It's running your life into the ground and you refuse to see it."

He drew his lips into a fine line, feeling his face harden.

_I'm not a thing._

"You need to book your flight home because you're not staying here tonight."

"You can't just-"

"I am _not _going to be having you two as guests if all you're going to do is _insult me and the people I care about_!"

Richard, who looked on the exchange scornfully, went to say something but Astrid threw up her hand.

"Done. I'm done with you."

It took the two of them a long time to walk away. When they did, she slumped.

"Hound," she murmured. "I want to get away for a little while. Take me somewhere."

He nodded, not quite sure where she wanted to go or what she meant, though he had a hunch. The Autobot, joints tight from the minutes of being coiled like a painful spring and forced to hold still, picked her up in both hands and took the two of them to the relative privacy that his partitions would afford. There he sat down on a concrete slab and enshrouded the both of them in darkness: a clear night's sky surrounded them, complete with starlight and faint sliver of moon off in the fabricated distance. Tall grass tickled his feet.

He didn't know what to say, but he hoped the hologram could speak for him.

She had come to sit in the crook of his arm, head resting against his side and legs pulled in tight. He lightly held her there with his right hand.

In the corner of his mind came a little ping- notification of a comm. It was Jazz.

_Not now._

_But we've got an update on the-_

_If it can wait until tomorrow, let it._

He didn't have the strength for that right now. Hopefully, he would tomorrow though. It was likely important.

Suddenly she shifted, though, and he was caught off-guard when the side of a small fist collided with his chest with a _thud_. Immediately he looked down to see what was... what was going on, he supposed, only to see her do it again and again, each harder than the last.

He lifted his hand from her, ready to place again where she so desired. "Astrid?" he said very quietly. Why... at him?

All he saw was the crown of her head as she reached for the hand, bringing it up to her chest and hugging it. The undersides of his fingers felt her heartbeat thrum against them, felt her lungs fill and empty. Felt her... tremble.

At length, a sob escaped her and she clutched the small part of him closer. It wasn't long before his fingertips were wet against her cheek.

_What do I say? h_e wondered. Richard and Tracy... their words stung him, but he had a feeling that it paled in comparison to her pain.

Hound decided to just hug her. Hoisted her up so that he could rest his head on hers, using his arms to shield her from the outside. The stars in his sky continued to twinkle, and she beat like a weak heart from within him.

"It's going to be alright," he whispered. He felt her shake her head in reply.

"No," she said, neck muscles tight and nose running. The mech froze in fear. "I'm not sure if it is."

"What do you... mean?" He was afraid of the answer.

"I can't live like this," she gasped. "I can't. I have no money—they wiped my credit—, and now... no family."

A fear and an acute sadness overcame him. "You've... you've got me?"

At that she burst into uncontrollable sobbing. She buried her face, covered in fluids, into his hand.

_Primus, what do I do?_

_You're doing all you can..._

She jerked with each quick, gasping breath, and eventually slowed.

In a barely audible whisper: "I know."

He was sinking, sinking... but he wouldn't let himself hit bottom, even if just for her sake. He hurt for her, and badly.

"What can I do to help?" he asked in a small voice, gazing out into the holographic night sky. He could see through it; with a flick of a mental finger he could see the wall in front of them, a faint crack in the concrete and a spot of paint from the window blackout-

But he didn't want to right now. He wanted to lose the both of them in his fantasy landscape made almost-real and be there, suspended forever.

"Get through this with me. I don't want to come out on the other side alone."

He nodded.

On the other side of the space, Hound noted movement, the sound of duffel bags and coats. There was a pause, and low murmuring, before quiet footsteps headed their way. The Jeep scowled, staring at his feet, resolving to keep the holo in place. From the outside, the hologram would be reversed: a ball of opaque night sky with a sliver of moon at the far end. The footsteps stopped close by, but no words were spoken.

Hound squeezed his optics off and gave a sigh through his vents.

_Go away, _he wrote in the stars.

"We just want our daughter back," came the very faint, likely humanly-inaudible voice of Richard. Hound felt him shake his head and bite back tears.

_She's not yours to have._

"_You're going to kill her!_" he bellowed. Hound's spark shuddered at the raw despair in his voice. It struck him like lightning.

He held her closer, static building up behind his CPU and threatening to ground. Hound's constellation disappeared, leaving only formless night again. Withdrawal.

Richard walked away, his steps slow and heavy.

It wasn't long before the front door opened and shut just as it had done before. There was nothing but silence after the rental car pulled away. Where would they stay? They weren't going to the airport...

_Doesn't matter_, he thought.

Astrid let out a haggard sigh and wiggled loose. He unfolded his arms, feeling cold where she'd been, and watched as she jumped off the oversized berth and "disappeared" beyond the hologram. Hound sent it away, opening his mouth to say something, but nothing came. His gaze fell to his hands in his lap as he sensed her go to the kitchen. There was some tinkling of glasses before it went quiet again.

He sat there for some time, thinking about how he felt much like a ball bouncing down a flight of stairs.

.

Astrid spent a few hours on the couch, watching television without a word. He couldn't fathom what she was thinking, and the only give-away was the deepening crease between her brows. Her distance unnerved him, and Hound found himself, for the first time in a long while, longing for an electronic connection. This wound up unnerving him too.

_You did the right thing._

The comm startled him. _I hope so, _he replied.

_Two civilians have been removed from a dangerous situation. I assure you, it was a good decision._

Hound remained silent.

_I might also add that I ultimately remain optimistic that things will work out for the better as well._

_Thanks, Steeljaw._

.

"Sir! Sir!" A young enlisted dressed in green fatigues ran down the hallway as fast as his legs would carry him. The woman officer who was overseeing this shitshow paused and turned with palpable irritation. But the urgency in his voice and lack of breath told her that it was likely something important.

"What is it, specialist?"

He stopped short of her, body bobbing up and down with every breath. His face was flushed... he must have run quite a ways looking for her.

"It's..." breath. "It's dead, sir."

"_What?! _Show me."

The room was abuzz with engineers and scientists in radiation suits scurrying about the containment unit that had once held an alien (in)organism. The majority of the area was taped off, however, and the director knew better than to charge in any further. Beyond the technical chatter going on on the deck below, she could clearly hear the croaking of Geiger counters.

But what was left of the creature in the tank was the thing that caught her prolonged attention: all that was left was a deep puddle of metallic liquid. Some of it had left a spatter of residue on the inside of the glass where it had... exploded?

"What in god's name happened, agent?" she asked a black-suited man standing silently beside her. She wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there.

"Spark collapse," he replied simply, nodding at a pair of nuclear physicists perched atop a ladder and reaching in with an improvised tool to fish something out of the mechanical gore. She noticed now a film of oil pooling on top of the chrome sludge as it continued to settle into the bottom of the unit. It appeared to have a faintly greenish sheen to it.

"A kind of nuclear reaction?" She ground her teeth at the thought of the entire base now being hopelessly irradiated.

"Yes, but these things tend to be rather self-contained."

_How in the...?_

She watched as the primitive scoop/claw withdrew from the puddle, dripping silver, and in its grasp was... something. It was too small to tell from this far. Whatever it was appeared to be extremely heavy, though, and it took a third staff member to help lift it from the tank and drop it into a padded case."Why is this so different from the others' death?"

"The other aliens are equipped with a piece of anatomy that protects the body from the explosive moment of death: a near-impenetrable unit that houses the spark and mediates between it and the rest of reality."

"_Reality?_" She didn't like that she was having to ask these questions. "Why haven't I-"

"Inasmuch as we've been able to tell, the spark chamber contains a multidimensional space that allows for such a large, heavy body as the spark to exist within the physical confines of the Cybertronian body-types we've recorded. This event here seems to have proved the theory true, to an extent. There is still much about this one that we won't know."

"You said "the other aliens". Did this thing not have a spark chamber?"

"No. Any anatomical structure beyond the spark would have probably compromised the technology."

She looked on, face hard. "It seems it's compromised our attempts to study it as well. Do we know a cause of death, by any chance?"

"Possibly a suicide," the agent replied.

The director's brow arched and the rest of her face twisted up. "_Suicide? _It was capable of suicide? Are you sure it wasn't an automated self-destruct response to being contained?"

Just then another technical specialist ran up to them, also out of breath. He handed the BREME agent a stack of papers, who proceeded to flip through them.

"If it was capable of revenge, then I wouldn't put suicide beyond it either." He closed the folder that the papers were stuffed into and held it up, the faintest of smiles crossing his otherwise emotionless face. "It appears to have given us encryption keys before expiring."

.

Hound was brought out of recharge by a tapping sensation on the insides of his head. What was...

Oh.

He minded his chronometer, which read 8:00a. His alarm was going off, but he couldn't remember why?

Why why why...

Ah, right. Astrid's doctor's appointment.

Hound sat up from where he'd fallen asleep on the floor, and looked to his left to where she was asleep on the couch, fully dressed and with a glass tumbler on the floor next to her. A little dirty water from melted ice was all that was left in it.

She didn't look peaceful. Her shoulder was hiked a few inches too high, her neck was at an odd angle. The position didn't look good for her hips.

"Astrid..?"

A moment passed and he tried again.

She grunted and rolled over.

"Astrid, you've got an appointment in an hour. You've got to get up soon."

"Not going," she mumbled hoarsely.

Hound scowled. "But you have to. You need to get looked at by a human doctor."

"What, are you gonna make me? Carry me?"

He folded his arms. "Maybe."

"No you won't."

She continued to lay there, facing away from him, face up against the back couch cushions.

Hound couldn't say that he didn't actually consider it, but...

"The agents aren't going to like this," he mumbled.

"They don't like shit."

A long silence passed between them, and Astrid didn't move. The Autobot glanced at the glass on the floor and figured that she was probably hung-over. He sent a hologram into the kitchen to fetch her some water as he rose up and looked toward the vehicle entry. The smaller version of himself set it down next to the other glass.

"I'm going to go out for a little bit," he said, feeling heavy. "I need some fresh air."

She grunted. "Bye."

Hound furrowed his brow plates, transformed, and left.

The road was wet under his tires. And stinky.

Asphalt stunk after a rain, and he was never fond of the smell. His comrades, when pressed to admit that they used their olfactory detectors (the ones equipped with them), would often remark that the sting of tar and car fluids reminded them of home.

It certainly reminded him of Cybertron, but not home.

It was like the dead planet had smeared itself all over Earth, tracing itself around and around in lines and aimless squiggles across the continents, poking at cities and winding around mountains like a long noose. And it was dry, and stale. Until it rained.

_I don't know where I'm going_, he realized. _I guess that's the point of getting out and getting some "fresh air"?_

The Jeep decided to head south and along the inlet for a few miles before turning away from the water, dark and gray, and headed into the hills which were topped with a fresh blanket of snow from the night before.

When at a safe distance from the road he transformed and gazed up through the tall pines. It was deathly quiet, so much so that he felt compelled to hush his own internals.

If he had pockets, his hands would have been in them.

The mech trod along aimlessly, CPU abuzz with so many things that he had no idea what any of them were, it felt like. After a while, a fog started to roll in around him, creating an ethereal scene quite unlike any he would have found on Cybertron. A dark gray silhouette against the heather, moving so faintly that it almost seemed still and solid.

It reminded him of ash.

And there it was: the heat, the smoky molten light. Arms of fire reaching up toward the cloudy night sky like tongues or flashing knives. Licking and biting...

That was a night that he did a good thing. He was the hero for a brief moment.

_Do I want to be a hero though?_

He saw the scene in his foreprocessors. It came in faint flashes, as if he were recoiling from the memories, touching something painful and drawing his hand away. They were, in a way, forbidden memories.

The scene in his head shut off again.

_I just want to do the right thing._

But he brought it back.

A creeping and a crawling emerged in his spark, and Hound felt a whisper of compulsion to look for videos of himself again.

"_Is there anyone still inside?"_

He was a looming black shadow above the camera. His old optics cut through the sea of red and orange with their blue. Poised, ready to spring into action. Hound watched himself bound away toward the fire and couldn't watch any more.

The mech's optics looked out over the fog again just as the air slowly gave way to a drizzle. He could feel moisture condense on his armor and begin to drip.

"At some point you've got to accept the fact that Astrid's just as much responsible for being in this relationship as you are," he said quietly. His voice was quickly lost in the gray mist, like a rock sinking in a body of water and disappearing from sight.

_She could have left with them last night, _he thought. _But told them to leave instead._

And if she got hurt again? If she were used against him? All of the Autobots?

Hound kicked at a twig near his foot.

"What am I gonna do, lock her up in a blast-proof box so nothing can ever hurt her?"

She said it herself, even. She wasn't running away from this life for a reason.

_I wouldn't be with her if she didn't know what she wanted anyways. Why can't you let her want the things she wants? You can't protect her from herself. She doesn't **need **protecting from herself._

The green Autobot shook his head and scowled.

"When am I going to be able to believe myself when I say that.."

His body sighed as he turned to face the direction he came from earlier. _I've gotta take that comm_, he said to himself. It almost felt like doing so would just put one more nail in the coffin Richard and Tracy had built for him.

He was a soldier.

He had to take it.

_Jazz? I'm ready to hear it._

A delay.

_Hound? Oh good, I'm glad you're alright out there._

_What do you mean?_

_Things aren't looking so hot. They got the dirt on the red death manufacturer- the client is a bogus pharmaceutical company out of Phoenix. Everyone on its "board of directors" has been dead for years. We managed to hack a few "company files" and we're pretty sure it's a BREME puppet._

_Why does that put us in immediate danger?_

_Because the science team finally uncovered the maker's mark on our strain of enzyme after perusing the manufacturer's database: it's a hybrid chain of two Decepticon molecular structures. It's why we couldn't tell at first glance._

Hound was stunned.

_Did you ever get a date?_

_The sample you initially brought us can be estimated to be about 4 months old. Whatever they've been planning, it sounds like it's in reaction to your BREME project._

_Of course._

_And the kicker: not only is a canister still unaccounted for, but an order was placed for another 10kgs of the stuff just last week._

_Who? Who placed the order? Do you have a name?_

_Colin White._

Colin.

Hound looked up at the blank, dark sky as it began to drizzle again. Richard's parting words were suddenly ringing in his audials, and he shook his head in disbelief. _Yeah well... he might not be dead, but he's been in stasis lock since Friday, and he's definitely with BREME right now._

As soon as Hound's tires were on the pavement again, he gunned it.

_Steeljaw, are you there?_

…

_Hound! What's the word?_

_You and I are officially on double alert. BREME is planning something big, and they're going to be hitting hard._

_Just how hard is hard?_

_Read Death hard._

_Primus..._

_And it seems like they're working with the slagging Decepticons. All of the plans we've had have gone out the window._

_...Affirmative._

_Has Astrid gone anywhere? Any suspicious activity around the warehouse?_

_None at all, comrade._

_Good._

_And you are...?_

_Gone out to get some fresh air. I'm on my way back._

_._

_Welcome home, Hound._

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, come on, open up..."

It was a few more seconds before the Jeep was able to drive inside and transform without stopping, and continue his pace toward Astrid's living area in a brisk walk.

The woman was still on the couch, nursing a glass of milk while watching TV with just as bleary of a pair of eyes as she had when he left. She glanced up at him as he stopped and stood in front of her.

"You need to pack and join your parents on that flight back to California," he said, completely ignoring everything he'd just got done sorting out. "BREME is allied with the Decepticons, and they've got something planned for next week when we reach the energon source- the _ship_, as Codec said."

Astrid twisted up her face as she looked up at him for a few moments. "They can't be _too _buddy-buddy if they had to break in here and steal some paperwork. Colin said that they'd get someone else after I was dead to do what they needed to do."

That was true. "We don't know the extent of their coalition. Obviously they're very antagonistic, but a deal had been struck and now they plan on killing a _lot _of Cybertronians soon."

"Seems to me like they're using BREME to get to the Megatron ship whatever, and BREME is using them for the same thing. And the whole time they're hoping the other turns their back and lowers their guard first. In other words," she grunted. "A clusterfuck."

"Which is why you need to get out of here. There's no telling what will happen when they stop getting along."

"Why? I can help you."

Hound shut off his optics and ground his dental plates, groaning. _Doesn't need protecting from herself, huh? _"No. I'm not going to let you do that."

Her eyes went back to the TV. "You're going to need a human ally that doesn't come in a black suit," she mumbled. "Without me, you're stuck with robots and backstabbers."

She had a point.

No! No she didn't!

"That's not what matters, and you know it."

"What the hell is my life if the Autobots don't win?"

Hound stopped short of himself at these words, face softening, as his gaze met hers. He opened his mouth to speak, but...

"Do you think I want to live in a world where either BREME or Decepticons come out on top? Do you not see them reducing my life, bit by bit, to nothing?"

His spark shrank. "I... I do..."

"Then I'm going to fight them, or I'm going to die trying. And you're going to let me."

He kept looking at her even after she'd turned her eyes back to the TV again, face hard. She suddenly looked very old, and Hound felt less so.

A long time passed.

"You've made your mind up," he said quietly. "And there's nothing I can do to change that. It's something I've always... liked about you."

"So I'm staying right here."

He nodded and sighed. "Yes, yes you are."

.

The hotel room was dim and shabby; the weather outside didn't help in this regard, and even having the lights on didn't seem to help chase away the shadows.

Not that the occupants wanted to be seen.

The room was fitted with two queen beds. On one was laid several sets of hunting clothes, tactical gear, and four handguns. On the other, two sleek, white containers. A young man sat on the bed next to them, rolling them back and forth across the stiff and threadbare linens, looking down at them perplexedly.

"I don't get it, Gary. How in the hell is this stuff supposed to help us get our hands on one of those things?"

"Shit, Carson, do I look like I know? Lori says it paralyzes them or something, and that we should be able to get some good documentation then."

This explanation wasn't quite satisfactory to the young man. Perhaps he was trying to drive at something else.

"Why are we the ones doing all the dirty work? This wasn't what the Watch was about 3 years ago."

Gary, who was in the middle of organizing magazines for the guns and strategically putting them in various compartments of a backpack, paused what he was doing with a distinct air of frustration. "The Watch has always had _one goal_: making the opaque transparent. Gotta break eggs to make an omelette."

"You think, being ex-BREME employees, they'd want to take a less radical approach."

"Do you not know anything about the States' military history? About their secret experimenting on civilian populations? About their ability to _build and destroy entire nations?_" A pause here, not for effect, but to see if Carson actually had an answer. He didn't. "Apparently you don't, otherwise you'd know what kind of danger these guys are in just for trying to do something about this. When we're done here, we'll have blown the lid off this whole thing. Christ, remind me why Lori put you on this project?"

"You're not getting past any security systems without me."

"Right, and at the end of the day, I guess that's all that matters," Gary grumbled, standing up and looking at the computer bag resting against the bed next to Carson's foot. "Especially what with the bombs and all."


	16. Stairway To Heaven

_Wow, so... it's been a while, hasn't it?_

_I'll admit it, I thought that I wouldn't be able to finish the story because I was making the plot so damn complicated. I'd actually lost track of everything that was going on several times, got frustrated and gave up several times more. Eventually I had to rework the entire climax of the story in order to come back. Either way, I'm glad to have come back to this. I kinda love these two._

* * *

><p>"Do you <em>really <em>think this shit's going to work?" asked another man. He was leaned against the dingy wall and looking out of the hotel window at a dim, bleak world outside. He was older than Carson, but not as old as Gary. He was neither overcome with the zealotry of middle age nor the outspoken frowardness of youth. You could just tell in the way that he folded his arms.

A fourth, picking at his fingers in a chair across from the beds, looked up. "What happens if they send the feds instead of the robot?"

"Then we're fucked," Gary snapped. "But we _do _have a contingency plan. We've gone through that."

The third man licked his lips and looked out the window again.

Gary sighed, pulling a yellow legal pad out of the pack and flipping through the pages, full of notes and diagrams. "Let's go over this again."

.

Astrid had finished her milk and was sitting upright on the couch, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. The TV, being on a cart, was wheeled out of the way to make room for the great mech, who sat across the coffee table from her like a hulking adult at a child's tea party.

"I need a way that I can talk to you just in case..." she said, gesturing around her and trailing off. "...you know."

Hound nodded slowly.

The warehouse could be bugged and they'd have no way of knowing.

She sat and thought for a moment, staring at the table in front of her. Could they use the cell phone? Could texts via his proxy number be intercepted by BREME technology? Maybe sign language? Or-

"Hey," the mech grunted. She jerked her head up and glanced in the direction that his outstretched arm was pointing. The console? She met his luminous gaze and he jerked his helmeted head in the same direction. Astrid took this as a cue to stand up and walk over to the piece of furniture, opening up one of the drawers to produce a memo pad.

"This?"

"I think it's our best bet."

She fished out a pen and proceeded to write. "You're as good at deciphering English as any native speaker, right?"

"If not," he shrugged. "I learn fast."

"Good."

If this was to be a viable communication between them, then she'd have to be fast at it. Was he going to write too? Astrid highly doubted it; he'd have all kinds of tricks up his metal sleeves, she was sure.

_If plce is bggd thn wr lrdy scrwd, _she scrawled, then held up the paper for him to see.

He nodded.

_Knda knw tht bfr we hd ths cnvo tho_, she added. _Knda knw ths ws th ndgm 4 a whl_

He looked away. "Me too," the mech admitted. "Ever since the attack. I'm sorry."

Astrid shook her head. "Don't be. Shit happens."

_nw lts pln my xit strtgy._

_._

Upstairs, Astrid was busy assembling a small "bug-out bag" while Hound was communicating their rudimentary plan with Steeljaw. The last of her freeze-dried camping rations went into the pack, along with a couple of meal-replacement bars, extra set of thermal underwear, a compass, knife, and magnesium stick. And, of course, the gun, which had ended up in a case under her bed after the incident in the woods.

She held the cold, heavy thing in her hand, knowing deep in her bones that she was ready to fire it again. Ready to pull the trigger on another human. The realization scared her a little, but there was little time for fear now, Astrid decided. The opportunity to act, the opportunity to end BREME, was coming.

Sailing down the stairs and across the warehouse floor, past Hound, Astrid set the pack beside the back door. There it would wait.

_You need to be ready to leave at a moment's notice_, Hound projected in bright orange letters on the floor in front of her.

She nodded.

_Steeljaw will take good care of you, I promise._

"I know."

Astrid walked over to the thermostat in the entryway and turned it down to its lowest setting, then opened the front door to let the frosty air come swirling in. She put on her coat and boots.

"Now, we wait," he murmured.

They went to sleep together on his concrete berth that night. She, bundled up in the crook of the giant's arm, waiting for the inevitable.

.

The next morning, the inevitable came.

Or rather, it rang. At 6 am sharp.

Astrid stirred, looking at the name on the caller ID of her cell phone with dread. Hound, as it turned out, was already awake. The fact that he was able to bring himself out of sleep without so much as a budge was something she still hadn't gotten used to.

"Let me answer," he said as quietly as his voice-makers would seemingly allow.

So she held up the phone and a moment later, he had remotely taken the call. The screen was showing that it'd been answered.

"Doley?" Hound confirmed.

She didn't know what exactly he'd planned on saying, but the plan was in place.

He suddenly feigned fear and indignation. "She didn't show up yesterday? Well, where is she, then?!" Astrid swallowed and stayed quiet as a mouse. "She said she'd be going with her parents afterward. And you're telling me that you've no idea where she is now. For slag's sake, Doley, you-"

He fell silent for a few moments.

"Well, check the hotel, then."

...

"...what? You've got to be kidding me! I'm not letting you search without me. That's-"

...

"Fine. Hound out."

Astrid lowered the device back down, and quietly slipped it back into her coat pocket. "Well?" Fog escaped her as she spoke. The temperature had fallen tremendously during the night.

"You'd better leave soon. They want me to remain at the project site until they "find" you."

"Stay safe," she murmured, rubbing his enormous fingers with both hands. "Call for backup if you need to."

"I should say the same of you." He smiled down at her, but there was worry there.

She wondered how he'd managed to pull off such a convincing lie; Hound was honest to a fault, and not 3 weeks ago would she have imagined that he had such a thing in him. Unfortunately, it'd have to be a topic for another conversation.

"Let me call Steeljaw."

.

It wasn't long before Astrid found herself riding on the back of the golden, mechanical feline as he passed through small stands of trees along the streets and highways in order to make it out into the wilderness without being seen. The thick mist would help give them cover.

Hound's last words to her weren't even spoken. "He says he promises to see you again very soon," Steeljaw relayed solemnly.

"Where are we going exactly?"

"There's a hollow with a shallow cave not far out of town that is considerably warmer than the ambient air temperature," he said, slowing from a gallop to a cautious prowl as they prepared to cross a highway. "Hold on." With a terrible bolt of speed, they darted across the 4 lanes through a break in early-morning traffic. Hopefully they'd get mistaken for a wolf and promptly forgotten should anyone spot them through the fog.

About 10 minutes later and they'd arrived to the secret hideaway that the golden mech had told her about. It was an old wolf den, possibly, or maybe black bear. It was hard to tell. It was big enough for the two of them at least, and it was shelter from the snow. That's all that mattered.

Astrid sat down at the back of the cave, and with a shiver, opened her meager pack. This could very possibly be home for the next couple of days; at least, until the dig had revealed the "ship" and Hound's orders changed. Her purpose now was to provide reconnaissance with Steeljaw while they waited for the imminent fallout between BREME and the Decepticons, all the while keeping eyes and optics out for signs of Read Death.

"So I hear that you have a healing factor that is above-normal for a human," the mech broached, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, a little like Wolverine. You know X-Men?"

"A little."

"You know, the _snickt _guy. With the claws. Played by Hugh Jackman."

"Ah."

"Except that I'm still far from invincible."

"How do you propose to help us in our struggle against BREME?"

She paused, looking down at the firearm in her pack. "I... I don't know. But I have to try."

"Try," he muttered, laying down in the snow just outside the mouth of the den. "Yes, that's all any of us can do now."

.

"You must be Chris?" Gary asked, getting out of the junker he bought just for the mission here: a white Toyota pickup. The two men were meeting in the parking lot of a gas station, the asphalt under their feet a rich black from icy precipitation. They came together and firmly shook hands.

"Good to finally meet you, Gary," he said.

From under his heavy denim coat Gary produced a manila folder, handing it to Chris, who opened it.

"So this is her, huh? Even looks like a dumb bitch in pictures. Heh."

Gary glanced around before continuing. "She may be a dumb bitch, but this still ain't gonna be easy."

"All the details in here?"

"They're all there. And what about CJ? You hear from him yet?"

"He's meeting with the "Twins" in about 10 minutes. He'll be at the hotel afterward to drop off the shit."

"Good... good. How long is this going to take you?"

"It'll be done today, don't worry. You'll be able to set up tonight."

"Fucking better be," Gary warned as he got back into the truck and pulled away.

Back at the hotel, he was arriving just as CJ, a fellow operator, was also. Chris already knew his role, and it was an important one. Time to go over the plan with the other 5, though. Gary took out the legal pad and Carson brought out his computer.

He swallowed. "Let's go over roles first... Carson, you're tech. Bryce is demo, Mike is locks and recon, and Glenn is nav. This is by far the most dangerous and fast-paced operation we've ever done so far, so I'm going to need everyone's complete cooperation tonight. If I ask you to do something outside of your position, you'd better as hell be prepared to do it." Everyone nodded. "Now, the timeline..."

At T-0000 (T would be determined by whenever Chris was to deliver the effects of his task; but no sooner than 2100 hours), Chris and Gary would leave the hotel with effects in tow and head for the high school. Bryce, Carson, Mike, and Glen have already disabled alarms, locks, and CCTV in relevant places. The area will be prepped.

At T-0020 they enter the premises, head for room B-125, with effects in tow.

At T-0025, effects are secured to both weaponized material and explosives.

At T-0026, ping is initialized, with as much masking as possible with the equipment given.

Then they wait.

At T2-0000, explosives are detonated, allowing for photographic evidence to be taken of the responding alien.

By T2-0010, all evidence needs to be gathered and the scene abandoned. Cue escape plan, and reach out to BREME contacts.

"Any questions?"

Everyone shook their head; they all knew their jobs, rehearsing their roles every waking moment for days now. It was almost as if some of them didn't want to be there; but they all knew that this would be for the greater good.

"The world is finally going to find out what those things are when we're done here," Gary said at length.

.

Chris, or at least that's what he'd tell you his name was, was camped out down the block from the warehouse in a vehicle that wasn't his, a two-way radio resting on the dash. He'd been out there for 4 hours already, and no one had come or gone, and he was starting to get a little mad. There wasn't even any sign of the robot that supposedly lived there.

With a lazy rumble, he reached for the file in the front seat and looked it over again, peering over the top of the folder every few seconds to make sure that someone wasn't coming or going from the premises without him noticing. Nope, said it right there on the second page: it was common to see either of them coming or going several times throughout the day on the weekends.

It was a little after 3 and the sun was just about down. "Give it another hour," he muttered to himself, rubbing at his chin with what were the beginnings of nervousness.

68 minutes and one Red Bull later, Chris was beginning to panic. He reached for the radio on the dash and switched it on. "Macbeth, Macbeth, this is Banquo, over," he said quietly.

"Go ahead, Banquo," came Gary's voice on the other end.

"I've been out here for more than 5 hours and I haven't gotten so much as a glimpse of Duncan."

There was a lengthy pause on the other end.

"Fuck," was what ultimately came through, along with a few other voices. "Tonight is our _only window _to safely access the school."

"I know."

"Sit tight while we cook up something else. Fuck's sake... Macbeth out."

Back in the hotel, Gary was livid.

"Get our contacts on the goddamn horn," he barked at Carson. The kid started furiously typing and clicking at the computer while the group's leader donned a headset.

.

_We've got us a phone call, Boss, _Rumble sent to both his Primary and fellow symbiotes.

Frenzy frowned from where he sat among the pile of spare energon reserves-which were always far too low-in one of the dark, damp caverns of the Decepticons' cave system. _It's the humans_, Frenzy noted.

_Useless, fetid, masses of flesh, _Soundwave rumbled through all of them. _Their task should have been accomplished already. Rumble, answer them._

_"_You all better not be frakkin' up," he said. Well, "said" was an approximation; his vocalizers hadn't moved, nor had he made any localized sound, but was instead sending his "voice" over the satellite connection. The human was hearing a nearly human voice on the other end. Soundwave sent him a painful jolt over their connection. "I mean... it's just that this is so important. The work you all are doing and stuff."

"Is... is this Frank or Ruben I'm talking to?"

"Ruben."

"OK, Ruben. So our, uh... our plan's been shot. I need help here. Tonight is our only opportunity to do this; you two are smart, you know how to him 'em where it hurts. I need an idea."

Soundwave's presence among the secondaries swelled tremendously. Anger did not lick at their foreprocessors the way any other mech might allow, but this was much of the extent of his expression; and to them it spoke volumes. The two spark-mates trembled. Rumble continued. "We... we uh..."

_I will have to do this myself, _Soundwave warned ominously. It was no trifling thing whenever he got directly involved. _Tell the creatures that we have the technology to approximate her voice. It was all we needed to begin with. _This was not ideal and would likely raise much more suspicion, but it was their only option now in lieu of going on a manhunt or making themselves obvious.

"Ok, ok, listen up. This is what you're gonna do. You're gonna set the bomb just the way we discussed, you're going to detonate it when we discussed, except that now I need one of you to sacrifice your phone."

"Wh-"

"Frank and me were computer engineers for BREME, right? We're smart guys. We've got the tech to make this work. A special bit of software, even, just for the job. All we need from you guys is a GPS signal for him to latch onto. And the easiest way to do that right now is with a phone."

The Decepticons heard Gary reach out to the rest of his crew. "Carson, that make sense to you?"

"Mostly," he answered. "Shit's above my paygrade."

Rumble was getting antsy. "Look. Figure it out, and just let us know when you're ready to go."

"O-"

Click.

"...kay."

.

The landscape around Astrid and Steeljaw's little den was turning darker and grayer as the minutes wore on and the sun began to set. An icy wind ripped through the trees from offshore, blowing tiny puffs of snow into her face. Steeljaw had crammed in there with her as closely as possible as she bundled up in her sleeping bag and munched on some kind of bar. Thank goodness the golden mech was warm to the touch.

"Can you sleep here?" he asked.

"It's only late afternoon, but yeah, I can sleep just about anywhere," she replied.

He looked confused for a moment, glancing at the sky and then back at her. "I thought humans went to sleep when it was dark?"

She smiled. "Things are a little different up here, bud."

A few more minutes quietly passed, and she brought out her lantern to chase the shadows away.

"Any word from Hound?"

"Let me ask." A few moments went by while Steeljaw went silent. Then he perked up again. "He says that he's reported to his post at the site and that he is not being permitted to leave until they find you."

"With any luck," Astrid said, swallowing. "It'll take them only a couple of days to figure I've jumped off a bridge someplace. _Then_ I'll be free."


End file.
